


Killing Time With You

by flares



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Fluff, It took me 45 years to decide on a title for this, Just Dance, M/M, Slow Burn, open mic nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-12-15 15:56:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flares/pseuds/flares
Summary: “People got together whenever they felt like it before they came up with the clocks.”“Yeah, and now, like, no one does,” Zayn says. “Most people want to just date their soulmate, because what’s the point in wasting your time if it’s going to end, right?”





	1. 255 days

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Killing Time With You [Spanish Translation]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13182735) by [mimopapel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimopapel/pseuds/mimopapel)



> I've been sitting on this idea for a while, with an outline sitting in my drive and collecting dust. Title is a jumbled lyric from _400 Lux_ by Lorde.
> 
> Shoutout to Lex for putting up with me stressing over this for so long, and to her and Andrea for looking it over for me.

They meet on a Wednesday at an open mic night. Zayn is sitting with Harry in a booth that a couple Zayn thinks is on a date graciously offered to share with them. The place was already packed to burst when they got there.

There’s a girl wearing ankle-breaking heels singing on the stage, something pop and catchy, but it’s the guitar player partially obscured in the shadows that catches Zayn’s eye. And once he catches sight of him, Zayn can’t look away. He’s swaying slightly from side to side as he plays, making little faces when he changes chords and lets his gaze wander the room.

He looks over towards Zayn’s booth and, although Zayn’s not totally sure because of how many people are in between them, spots him. The guitarist quirks an eyebrow and jerks his chin a bit in an acknowledgement. Or Zayn thinks it is, at least. Something about the bright grin he’s wearing, pointed in Zayn’s general direction, has his face heating up. Caught.

“Hey, are you blushing?” Harry puts the back of his hand up to Zayn’s cheek, persisting when Zayn halfheartedly bats him away. “You _are_. What’s it, then?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Nothing,” he says. “It’s nothing. I’m just warm.”

“Nah, you’re acting like you’re blushing, I think.”

Zayn doesn’t respond to that, because he knows his sudden, rushed movements gave him away but like hell he’d admit it. Harry snorts when Zayn glances back up to the stage. The guitarist is packing up, the girl who was singing already heading towards the bar, and he meets Zayn’s gaze again. Zayn looks away and Harry laughs.

“Ahh, I didn’t know ‘nothing’ could play guitar. Do you know him?”

“No,” Zayn says. “Why? Do you?”

Harry shrugs, taps his fingers idly on the table. “Not really. Unfortunately. He keeps looking over here, though. It’s either at me or you.”

“Huh. Probably you. I didn’t notice him looking over here,” Zayn lies. Instead of calling him out on it, Harry rolls his eyes.

“My clock’s still ticking. Yours too. That’s a pity, hey?”

It sounds like Harry’s talking to him from the far end of a tunnel. All echoed and hollow. Zayn doesn’t realize he’s been staring at the guitarist’s hands, until Harry taps at his forearm and he notices that his vision is blurring around the edges.

“Hm. What?”

Zayn looks down at where Harry’s fingers are. Where the ink there is still a sad grey, glaring up at him. _255:11:11:09_. Then _08_ , then _07_ , then it glitches and goes back up to _10_ , so he looks away. It always gives Zayn a headache, looking at it for too long. Watching it count down, then re-adjust because of some butterfly fluttering on the other side of the world, or something.

 _"It’s normal!"_ The people on the news say. _"Clocks adjust themselves as the world changes. There’s nothing to worry about as long as it doesn’t stop! The clocks are never wrong, so they constantly fix themselves to accommodate any possible decision."_ Zayn can't stand them.

“Oh.” Zayn won’t admit it, but his heart sinks a bit in his chest, his shoulders hunching just a bit more. That would’ve been too good to be true, if his clock ran out for the blonde guitarist. If his clock ran out for anyone in the near future, honestly. It’s most common to meet your soulmate in your twenties, and Zayn just wants it over with so he doesn’t have to think _God, what did I do now?_ every time his clock readjusts itself. “Yeah. Sucks.”

Harry sighs wistfully. When Zayn glances back up at him, he’s got his head resting in the palm of his hand, and his eyes are a bit glazed over. “I can’t wait to meet them. My soulmate. Think they’ll be nice. I like people who are nice.”

Zayn doesn’t respond. Partially because he’s been on the receiving end of this one-sided conversation far too many times already and he can’t _always_ humour Harry, and partially because he doesn’t have anything else to add, anyways. The whole soulmates thing is unpredictable by nature; no one knows what theirs will be like until they actually meet.

So, Zayn tries not to dwell on it too much. He has enough to think about.

Harry is still mumbling to himself about time and fate when the guitar player walks up to them.

“Hey, uhm.” The guitarist chuckles and adjusts the straps of the guitar case slung on his back. “This is weird, but didn’t you used to bartend here a few years ago?”

Of course he’s talking to Harry. Why would he look like that at someone he didn’t recognize? _Duh_ , Zayn thinks, cursing himself in his head.

Harry lights up. “Yeah. While I was still in Uni.”

“Cool,” the guitarist beams back at him. “I used to come in here all the time. Proper stereotype, I am.”

In what Harry probably thinks is in a subtle manner, he elbows Zayn hard in the side. “Yeah, yeah, Irish. I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Niall,” the guitarist says. “Niall Horan. And…?” He looks over at Zayn, smile still intact but looking softer around the edges. Like he knows Zayn isn’t as full-force as Harry is. Zayn’s probably just projecting, now. He can be good at seeing things that he wants to see.

“Zayn Malik,” he says. “You were great. Like, performing, I mean.”

“For sure!” Harry says, nodding enthusiastically. “Best of the night!”

“You have, like...” Zayn trails off, already regretting his words, but Harry’s turned to him now expectantly. He clears his throat. “You have a great vibe. Like the singer was great as well but— yeah. You added a different feel to it. It was great.”

Niall smiles at him, seemingly genuine even though Zayn made things _so_ awkward and is resisting the urge to bolt from the bar. “Thanks, man,” Niall says. He jerks his head a bit like he’s refocusing himself. “It’s nice to meet you, but I’ve gotta go. Ellie— uh, the girl I’m playing for has a gig at some club, and it’s not really acoustic but I’m her ride. And I’m, like, her friend, too. So, I have to go.” He looks a bit regretfully at Zayn, and now Zayn _knows_ he’s projecting.

“Nice meeting you, too,” Harry says, extending his hand for Niall to shake. Zayn just bobbles uselessly beside him, taking Niall’s offered hand a few moments late and holding it a few too long.

Once Niall walks away, hugging what appears to be everyone in attendance on his way out, Harry chuckles. “Well, that wasn’t your best work. But he seemed to like you, still. Too bad he wasn’t, like, one of our soulmates. Would’ve fit in with us.”

“He could have still been our _friend_ , Harry. Not everything is about soulmates.” Zayn rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I was so fucking off he probably doesn’t want to see us again, anyways. We better hope the universe gives us a break and he isn’t Lou’s or Liam’s.”

Harry looks at him doubtfully, then shrugs. “It still would have been nice. I mean, I’m not getting any younger, and he’s cute. It’s really too bad.”

Zayn shrugs at him, goes to take a sip of his drink but ends up with just the ice cubes hitting his lips. Frowning, he swirls the ice around a few times before putting down the glass again. It’s not like flirting always goes somewhere, but Zayn’s not used to royally screwing it up on his own.

“All right, mopey. If you pay for the next round, I’ll shut up about soulmates for the rest of the night.” Harry waggles his eyebrows, tapping at his empty glass with his fingernail.

“Deal,” Zayn says. He hauls himself to his feet with a deep breath and makes his way back to up to the bar. More alcohol sounds like a fantastic idea.

 

****

 

They can hear Louis yelling before he even enters the apartment.

“You’ve got to fucking help me, because I’m so fucking fucked,” Louis is saying, trying to force the door shut behind him and take off his shoes at the same time. “Shit. _Shit_. Fucking door is so fucking _broken_.”

“We all know the door is broken,” Zayn mumbles, stabbing at a piece of chicken.

“Should make a swear jar,” Harry says around a mouthful of noodles. It would be loud enough for Louis to hear if he wasn’t still swearing at himself and—from the sounds of it—everything around him. “I’d be rich.”

Louis bangs and yells his way into the living room where Zayn and Harry are eating at the coffee table. He’s waving his left arm around wildly. “I fucking found… I _found_ her and I’m going to fuck it up. Can that even happen?”

That makes Harry pipe up, bits of noodle flying out of his mouth when he asks, “Your soulmate? Lou, did you find your soulmate?” Before Louis can reply, Harry grabs his arm and holds it mere inches from his face. As if he needs to be that close to see that the line of stark black numbers on his forearm is all zeros.

“Shit,” Zayn says.

“Shit!” Harry repeats, louder. The force of his smile is enough to make Zayn’s own cheeks ache. What a sap. “Where? When? Is she nice?”

“Starbucks, like 48 minutes ago. She’s the _nicest_ , and I’m so fucked,” Louis says, already yanking his arm away and walking towards the hallway. “We’re going on a _date_ in two hours and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

His voice fades out a bit until Zayn can’t discern individual words anymore and he turns back to his dinner. It’s shitty of him, but he has to fight down the jealousy forcing its way up his throat.

Then, a bang followed by a stressed-sounding noise. “I don’t know what they _like_!” Louis yells. He’s speed-walking out from the hallway again, clutching his arm to his chest. “What the fuck? Why am I so nervous? I’m never this nervous. Zayn, what the _fuck_?”

Zayn looks to Harry helplessly. His mouth is filled with food but he doesn’t know how he’d reply anyways. Zayn waves his fork at Louis, then around in a circle, and Harry nods like totally gets it. Which would be surprising, because Harry’s almost always on his own wavelength.

“Don’t you have sisters?”

Louis barks out a laugh from the kitchen, comes back into the living room with a single ice cube pressed to a spot just below his elbow, dripping water down onto the carpet already. “Yeah, but my sisters aren’t my soulmates, Harry.”

“Flowers,” Zayn finally manages to say. “Get a shower, then get some flowers. Not roses.”

“What do I get if I don’t get roses? What other flower should I get? Why not fucking roses?!” Louis’ voice raises an octave, and he drops the ice cube onto the floor in favour of scrubbing his eyes with his hands. “She’s going to hate me. This is going to be a fucking disaster.”

“No, it won’t be!” Harry says, shaking his head adamantly.

Zayn reaches over and flicks Louis in the ankle. “Hey,” he says. “You’re going to be fine. She’s your soulmate and she already said yes to the date. Get her, like, tulips, or something. You’re going to be _fine_.”

Groaning, Louis finally seems to deflate a little bit. “Okay, okay.” He breathes out, then looks at Zayn thoughtfully. Zayn’s stomach sinks, because—

“What do you want me to do?” Zayn asks, pausing with his fork in midair.

“Come with me?” Louis asks. He kicks lightly at Zayn’s leg, making him jostle and drop a bit of noodle onto the table. Zayn frowns; Louis really shouldn’t be kicking him when he wants Zayn to do him a huge favour. “Like, stop me if I’m about to do something stupid, or something?”

“Yeah, would totally love to third wheel on your date with your soulmate on a Tuesday night,” Zayn says. It’s painfully clear he’s being sarcastic, but Louis just smiles and fluffs up his hair.

“Thanks, love you, bro,” he says, already making his way towards the bathroom. “I’ll tell her to bring a friend. Dinner then walk through the park, I think. Be ready.”

The bathroom door shuts behind him, and Harry looks at Zayn carefully until they hear the water start. Zayn sighs, looks down at his barely-eaten dinner until Harry tugs it towards himself and takes a forkful.

“Need me to help you pick an outfit for your first date?” Harry grins, food in his teeth. Zayn wants to smack him.

“Fuck off.”

 

****

 

“Could’ve at least done your hair up.”

Zayn gives Louis a look from the passenger seat, and when Louis doesn’t see it in favour of keeping his eyes on the road, Zayn flicks him in the ear. The car jerks slightly, and Zayn thinks, _Good_. He’d rather die than go on this date.

“Be _nice_ ,” Louis says, reaching over blindly to slap harmlessly at Zayn’s chest. “What if Eleanor’s friend is your soulmate? You never know. Stop being so fucking grumpy.”

“You know those chances are abysmal. I’ll be as grumpy as I want to be.” He reaches forward and flips the radio station to one that’s all static just to piss Louis off. “I’m doing you a favour, remember? _You’re_ the one who is supposed to be nice to _me_.”

Louis angrily jabs at the buttons on the console until the static turns to a man’s voice, crooning about beers and trucks. “Fuck you. You’re already in the car with me. You’re supposed to be my moral support.”

“You’re about to miss the turn.”

The car swings dangerously, tires skidding a bit, even, as Louis makes a hard right into the restaurant parking lot. Honks blare behind them, and Louis cranks down the window of the van to flip them off. Even though they definitely drove away by now and Louis was completely at fault.

“I want to go home,” Zayn says. “I want my noodles.”

“You can get noodles here.”

Zayn leans forward so he can take a good look at the restaurant that Louis had only told him the name of. It looks fancy, pretentious. The walls are made of glass, tinted dark so you can’t see inside. The glass on the doors is clear, though, and Zayn spots someone inside wearing a suit. Zayn’s jeans are more ripped than not, and his scuffed boots will probably leave marks on the floor.

“I don’t want rich people noodles. They never give you enough and they’re so expensive.”

Louis looks over at him again, eyes pleading, and Zayn slouches a bit. He already lost. He lost as soon as he got into Louis’ fucking minivan. “I’ll pay, Z. You can get as many plates of noodles as you want,” he says. He rakes his fingers through his hair again, which was nicely styled when they got into the van but has already gone to shit.

“I will.” Zayn sighs, leans over to try to fix Louis’ hair into something that less resembles a ball of tangled yarn. “You’ll be fine. But if this goes to shit, you can live in my apartment with me for the rest of my life. And that’s a promise, because I know she’s going to love you so I can promise anything.”

“Okay,” Louis says. “Stop getting sappy on me, now. You’re freaking me out.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn laughs.

“Fuck _you_!” Louis says, shoving at Zayn’s face lightly before turning to open up his door. “All right. Let’s not keep my soulmate and your possible-soulmate waiting.”

Zayn gets out and follows him into the restaurant. “Not gonna be my soulmate. Coincidences like that are only in movies.”

They get a table in the middle of the restaurant, and he might be just paranoid, but Zayn’s almost positive people are glancing over at them. Louis keeps folding and unfolding his cloth napkin, adjusting his tie and running his hand through his hair. Zayn brings up that he’s just making it worse, but Louis is so lost in his head that he just waves his hand and doesn’t respond. Despite the prestige of this restaurant, Zayn starts making a mini mountain of salt.

Their waiter comes by with water and breadsticks and gives Zayn a look of poorly-contained disgust. Fuck this restaurant, fuck Louis, fuck soulmates and—

Louis jumps up suddenly, chair scraping and clattering along the floor. If there weren’t eyes on them before, there definitely were now. Zayn follows Louis’ gaze to a girl making her way through the tables. She smiles at Louis like she can’t help it, and Louis is probably melting into the floor.

Not that Zayn would know for sure, since he’s too busy looking at the man behind her that she’s dragging along by his wrist.

“Uh, Zayn, this is Eleanor.”

“Hi, Zayn,” she says. Zayn shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. This is my friend, Niall.”

Niall pokes his head around so he can look at Zayn head-on, grin wide and happy. “We’ve met, yeah! Him and his curly friend were at the pub last weekend, when I was there with Ellie.”

Predictably, Louis turns to Zayn with his eyebrows raised and a grin that makes Zayn’s stomach drop.

“Oh, _Niall_ , this is?”

“Who are you, Yoda? C’mon, pick out a wine or something,” Zayn says. He hastily sits down and scrubs at his face like he can rub away the red in his cheeks.

Louis waggles his eyebrows at Zayn, looking smug. As if he planned for Niall to be Eleanor’s friend and he’s just successfully set them up. Which Zayn wouldn’t put past him, the fucker.

Whatever. They aren’t soulmates, and Zayn really doesn’t want to embarrass himself by hitting on Niall if they’re going to be seeing each other often. Which they are, probably, considering he’s Eleanor’s friend and Zayn can already see Louis basically melting under her attention.

“Never bought wine more expensive than a few dollars before,” Louis says, opening the menu.

Zayn raises his eyes from the menu, trying to send a long-suffering look to Louis sitting beside him that says, _hey, maybe don’t mention that?_ , but ends up catching Niall’s gaze across from him instead. He lets out a laugh, loud in the quiet murmur of the restaurant. It attracts a bit of attention, but Louis seems pleased by it. Ever the sucker for someone who thinks the stupid things he says are funny.

“I’m sure it all tastes the same,” Louis continues.

This time, Zayn kicks at his leg, and Louis flinches.

“Wine sounds good,” Eleanor says easily, shrugging her shoulders. “The white zin would be nice, if you don’t mind rosé.”

“Of course, yeah. Rosé tastes good,” Louis says, eyes flitting almost concerningly fast across the wine menu. He’s looking at the “full-bodied reds” list and his gaze looks a little crossed, now.

Once Eleanor looks away from Louis to point something to Niall on the menu, Zayn mumbles, “Wrong page,” under his breath.

Louis sighs out heavily, kicking Zayn’s foot in what Zayn thinks might be genuine annoyance, now. It can be hard to tell.

“Could go for a pint.”

Now Zayn can’t help laughing, snorting in a way he knows isn’t attractive. “You weren’t kidding about living up to the stereotype, then?”

“Never kid about that,” Niall replies. Louis and Eleanor are too busy pretending to look at their menus, glancing up at each other and looking away with red cheeks when they catch each other. “It’s the best stereotype. Like, just keep giving me pints and I’m all good.”

Zayn smiles back at Niall, doesn’t miss Louis kicking at his leg again.

 

****

 

The dinner goes about as well as Zayn told Louis it would. Soon enough, Louis relaxes enough to start acting like himself, and Zayn doesn’t know her that well but he can tell Eleanor is endeared by him at least. She rolls her eyes at the awful jokes Louis makes, but she smiles as she does. Zayn can’t say the same for himself.

And as Louis and Eleanor flirt unabashedly, Niall and Zayn talk. Between mouthfuls, Niall strikes up conversations with an ease that Zayn envies.

_"Your tattoos look so sick! Do you have a favourite or is it like picking a kid?"_

_"Have you seen Deadpool? I don’t know much about comics or anything, but I think it was awesome."_

_"I don’t get people who can pick a favourite meal. Like, I have a few, but it depends on the mood, you know?"_

_"This chicken is so good. I wonder what spices are in here. Do you think it’d be weird to ask the chef? It’s probably, like, counterproductive to business. I’ll have to get you to charm him, haha."_

He talks, not pressuring Zayn to say anything back but he’s clearly interested in anything Zayn says when he does reply. Niall’s smile is so bright that sometimes Zayn can’t help but smile back at him.

Zayn probably has bruises on his shins shaped like the toes of Louis’ dress shoes.

They order dessert, of course, and Niall devours his unattractively, with enthusiasm that’s over-exaggerated (or maybe it’s totally genuine; Zayn hasn’t known him long enough to know for sure). Eleanor shoves at his side even though she’s obviously trying to hide her grin.

Sidewalks weren’t meant to accommodate more than two people walking beside each other, so they end up pairing off.

Predictably, Louis and Eleanor end up walking together, and Niall and Zayn fall in step behind them. Niall ambles, as well, taking time to slow down and look more closely at plants. Which is fine, Zayn thinks. He watches people walking their dogs, sometimes asking to pet them, and feels another surge of _I want a dog_ , followed by the sad reminder that his building doesn’t allow pets.

Zayn reluctantly parts from an older-looking golden retriever, and they move on, Zayn noticing Niall smiling and shaking his head out of his peripheral.

“That’s cute,” Niall says, after a minute of walking with no interruptions.

“Hm?” Zayn startles out of his thoughts, shoes scuffing on the ground a bit. Eleanor and Louis are a ways ahead of them now. “What’s cute?”

“You,” Niall says, shrugging minutely, “Like, stopping to pet the dogs. ‘S cute.”

Zayn laughs a bit, if only because he can feel himself blushing, and isn’t _that_ ridiculous. “My building doesn’t allow pets. I have a goldfish but, like, I love pets. Dogs, cats, lizards, like… animals are so sweet.

He glances over at Niall and he’s nodding thoughtfully. “Never actually met anyone who had a lizard. Don’t know what they do.”

“Sleep, eat leaves, chill.” Zayn waves his hand vaguely. “Dunno. They’re sick, though.”

“Should move,” Niall says. He nudges Zayn’s arm, veering them both slightly onto the grass. When Niall laughs, Zayn kind of wants to make him laugh again. Just to make sure it’s Niall’s actual, genuine laugh. It’s endearing to the point where Zayn doesn’t pay any mind to the people in the park who turn to them.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Zayn steers them back onto the path, elbows bumping and shoulders pressed together. Niall’s running so warm that Zayn can feel it through both their sleeves after just a moment of contact. They’re a ways behind Louis and Eleanor now that there’s practically no way they could hear anything Zayn says unless he screamed it.

“You’re joking, I know, but I’ve really thought about it. Have roommates, though, and the rent isn’t half bad. I can live for a while, like,” Zayn shrugs, puts on an exaggerated frown. “It’ll just have to be Nemo and I, for now.”

“Fair. Rent is fucking nuts, like, so expensive. One day, though, you’ll have a whole zoo, by the sounds of it,” Niall says. “By the way, is your Nemo actually a clownfish? Because, like, I have a feeling that he isn’t even orange.”

Zayn initially tries to fake offense, but it’s true, so he ends up grinning through it, the sureness of his words warming Zayn’s chest. There’s another pang of sadness, the reminder that under his sleeve, Zayn’s clock is still silently ticking, the same as Niall’s is but stuck in a different timezone.

But then Niall laughs again, starts talking about _This one time I was mistaken for Ellen DeGeneres! Fuckin’ hilarious. Signed the autograph ‘n everything_ , and Zayn finds that he can’t stay dejected for long.

 

****

 

“God, she’s so great.”

“You said that already.”

Louis sighs again, doesn’t bother using his signal when he makes a sharp right. “But, like… she is. She’s everything I expected and nothing I expected and, like, holy shit, you know?”

“No, I don’t know, but I’m glad for you. She seems lovely,” Zayn says.

Louis has been mumbling and sighing and only half paying attention to the road for the past ten minutes, and he’s beginning to sound like a broken record. It’s not like Zayn isn’t happy for him, but Eleanor apparently dazzled Louis to the point where most words escape him, and Zayn can only deal with _man, she’s so awesome_ so many times in a row.

“The loveliest,” Louis says, proverbial hearts in his eyes. “Enough about me. How’s _Niall_?”

“Fuck off,” Zayn mumbles. He picks at a loose thread on his sleeve to avoid looking Louis in the eye. “He’s fine.”

“Is he the most soulmate-y not-your-soulmate?”

They stop at a light, and Zayn takes the opportunity to shove at his shoulder. “That doesn’t make sense, but I think you’re talking about friendship. You know they still exist after you find your soulmate, right?”

“Fuck _off_!” Louis laughs. “I mean that you were flirting with him, you fucker. You like him. You’re not smooth, bro.”

“I am smooth,” Zayn replies. It sounds pitiful as he says it, weak and definitely a lie. Smooth people don’t blush as often as he knows he did. “Yeah, he’s fine. Cute, but, like, we’re only acquaintances. Wouldn’t say friends yet.”

“Liar,” Louis says. “But whatever. Eventually you’ll stop being stubborn, since you’ll be seeing him all the time. He’s one of El’s friends and we are all going to hang out and be friends with each other, because fuck you.”

“She’s ‘El’ already, huh?”

“Don’t change the subject. Yes, she is, but don’t distract me.”

The tires scrape against the curb, and Zayn thinks that Louis is already distracted enough, by the looks of it.

“Distract you from what? You’re already not focused on the road.”

“Distract me from my _point_. And my point is that you wish he was your soulmate.”

After ages, and a few seconds of Zayn staring out the window in silence, Louis finally pulls up to their apartment building. He parks in his unofficial-but-official spot and shuts off the engine.

“You do. You like him.”

Zayn sighs, leaning back against the seat. “Not everything is about soulmates. You’re jumping to conclusions.”

“Harry told me about the open mic. And how you were, like, embarrassingly into him.”

 _Of course_ , Zayn thinks; Harry can’t keep anything to himself, especially if it’s something he deems romantic.

“I said it would be nice if he was my soulmate. Like, it would be nice for anyone to be my soulmate. Because they’d be my _soulmate_ , so we’d, like, get along and I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. I just thought he was cute. It’s nothing,” Zayn says. He tries to sound firm, but Louis looks over at him in a way that makes Zayn deflate. They’ve known each other too long, he thinks, for them to be able to lie to each other.

“He’s, like, really nice. And he’s into music, and I like his laugh, and it felt like we would have clicked, is all,” Zayn continues. He’s almost whispering, but he still feels like he’s talking too loud in the silence of Louis’ van. “It felt like we did click, but, like… Nothing stopped.”

Louis hums and taps his fingers on the wheel. “People got together whenever they felt like it before they came up with the clocks.”

“Yeah, and now, like, no one does,” Zayn says. “Most people want to just date their soulmate, because what’s the point in wasting your time if it’s going to end, right?”

“Things can still be good. Like, you can still date if you’re not soulmates. Just because it ends doesn’t mean you can’t have fun in the meantime, love other people.” Louis smacks at Zayn’s arm. It’s meant to lighten the mood, Zayn knows, but it falls a bit short. “You could meet your soulmate when you’re, like, ninety, and it’d be shit to spend all that time just waiting for them.”

“That hardly ever happens, for one. And for another, this is all really rich coming from someone who was just on a date with their soulmate not twenty minutes ago,” Zayn says.

Louis clicks the button to unlock all the doors, and just like that the tension breaks. “Sure, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. My kids tell me I’m right all the time.”

“Your kids giggle when you say the word ‘breaststroke,’ bro,” Zayn counters, shutting the door to the van behind him.

“Not relevant. I still think you should see which side he’s on. Like, type A or type B, you know?” Louis jogs around to meet Zayn in front of the van, messes up Zayn’s hair with his fingers.

Zayn grumbles a bit, then lunges at Louis’ hair in retaliation. When he dodges away, it turns into a race to the doors, leaving them both panting a bit.

“Fuckin’ smokes,” Zayn laughs, reaching over to run his fingers through Louis’ hair the wrong way through, just because.

Waiting for Louis to pick out their key from his huge chunk of chains, breathing returning to normal again, Zayn thinks about Niall. He didn’t seem like the type to waste time, but then again, Zayn doesn’t know Niall’s definition of it. He thinks about Louis’ promise to force them all into friendship, and while Niall seems easy-going, Zayn isn’t particularly up to seeing him often if he gets rejected. Or, worse, if they try something and it all goes to shit.

“Maybe,” Zayn finally says. He finally gets the key in the lock, but Louis only moves to look at him. “I’ll think about it, but, like, no promises. Most people still have, like tunnel vision with that, like. I’ll have to figure him out first before I even think about possibly asking him out. So, like, _maybe_. Not yes.”

“So basically a yes,” Louis says, but he’s grinning widely. “Really, though, that’s all I ask.”

It’s not surprising that Harry’s waiting up for them. As soon as they open the door—Zayn’s not even fully across the threshold, for God’s sake—he’s bursting around the corner, smile threatening to split his face.

“How was it? Did you get her wine? Did you plan anything else? Are you in _love_ yet?”

“It was, like, really good,” Louis says. He’s grinning as he toes off his shoes. “She’s so fucking great, and, like, keeps getting more great. And she brought _Niall_ with her.”

Harry lights up even more. “Like, the open mic night Niall?”

“Yeah, the not Zayn’s soulmate Niall.”

“Think he just goes by Niall, actually,” Zayn says. “Stop doing that with your eyebrows, Harry. You look ridiculous.”

“You mean, like, the Niall that Zayn did a horrible job flirting with?”

“The Niall Zayn has a gradeschool crush on.”

“Fuck _off_. You’re the one who couldn’t shut up about your soulmate on the drive home.” He hasn’t even taken his shoes off. The door isn’t even shut yet. God.

Zayn shoulders the door until it makes that familiar cracking noise and clicks shut. It should be concerning, but it feels like admitting defeat if they really try to fix the door. Plus, it adds character, right?

Louis is back to rambling about Eleanor as he makes his way into the living room, Harry close on his heels. Zayn feels exhaustion seeping into his bones. He forgot how draining it is to be around soulmates for so long when you don’t have one yourself. Niall was good company, of course, but Zayn can only handle talking about soulmates for so long, so it makes sense that he feels the need to curl up alone in his bed and not talk for a week.

“Think I’m gonna, like, go to bed,” Zayn says. He has to raise his voice a bit to ensure that both Louis and Harry hear him, since they’re still playing a one-sided game of _21 Questions_ that Harry initiated.

Making a surprised noise, Harry turns to look at Zayn with wide eyes. “You sure? Are you feeling okay?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but waves off Harry’s concern. “I don’t have to stay up until all hours every night, Harry. I’m fine, promise. Just tired.”

Louis looks at him with a knowing, slightly-pitying expression that makes Zayn’s stomach sink. Before he can say anything, though, Zayn gives them a wave and retreats into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Now he really wishes he had a pet; maybe it would make his bed feel less cold.


	2. 203 days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go out to Lex (again), Andrea (again), and Sarah for looking this over for me. Also s/o to me for changing the amount of chapters I expect this to have approx. 6 times since I originally posted it.

“Maybe you should slow down with the drinks,” Zayn says.

Harry scoffs at him, rolls his eyes and continues trying to grab the bartender’s attention. “I’m trying to have fun. And I’m not having fun yet, so,” he gestures in lieu of finishing his sentence.

“Fine, but don’t whine at me when you fall off of your barstool later.” Harry makes a noise that could mean anything, so Zayn turns his focus away.

There’s a DJ in the corner, which most people seem to prefer over the live mic nights anyways. Zayn doesn’t, but Louis always mocks him whenever he grumbles about _another Katy Perry song? Really? What year is it?_

“You can drag him home yourself, by the way,” Louis says. “I’m staying over at El’s.”

“Of course you are.” Zayn bites back all the retorts that pop into his mind. Like, he’s pretty sure Louis’ pillows are collecting dust, or that the only indication Louis wasn’t living with her was that he was still paying his third of the rent.

Predictably, Louis goes back to ignoring him in favour of watching Eleanor sip on her margarita and bop to the music. He links their fingers together, and Zayn catches the zeros down her forearm. He looks away.

“Sorry I’m late, boys.”

Liam sits down on the spare barstool beside Harry, who gives a weak cheer and wraps his arms around Liam’s shoulders. They wobble a bit, but Liam’s known Harry for longer than even Zayn has, so he’s prepared and steadies them after a few seconds.

“It’s fine, like,” Zayn says, chuckling. Liam’s trying to loosen his tie while batting Harry’s hands away from his face. It’s in vain; Liam’s tie is only a little askew and Harry ends up pinching his cheeks. “You could have stopped and changed. You know we don’t have a set time.”

Shrugging, Liam just gives Zayn a sheepish smile before gesturing to the bartender. He doesn’t like being late, Zayn knows, but he looks horribly overdressed in the dingy pub. Nice, but overdressed.

Then, Harry yells—just a loud noise, not even a word—and starts waving his arms wildly, instantly forgetting about Liam. Zayn tries to yank his arms back down to his side, but Harry’s determined. And also, he’s taller than Zayn and is standing on his tiptoes, so Zayn’s at a bit of a disadvantage.

“Don’t!” Harry says, turning to look back at Zayn with his eyebrows all furrowed and confused. “You like him. I like him. We should say hi.”

“Who? What?” Liam asks, glancing up from his drink.

“Talking about _Niall_ , Liam. Keep up,” Harry says. He yells again, and this time Zayn doesn’t bother trying to stop him.

“You didn’t mention Niall until now,” Zayn points out.

It’s irrelevant, though, because Harry stumbles off of his stool and nearly bowls over Niall, who takes it in stride. Haven’t they only met, like, twice? Zayn doesn’t remember if either of them mentioned actually being more than casual acquaintances back when Harry was a bartender.

“It’s not a race, mate,” Niall’s laughing, patting at Harry’s back as he tries to regain his balance. “Like, don’t think anybody will bother to try to catch up with you now.”

“I just drink until I start having fun,” Harry shrugs, leaning back so he can poke at Niall’s cheek. “And I’m having fun, now.”

“You weren’t having fun two minutes ago,” Zayn says. He wants Niall to notice him sooner than later, he realizes. Wants Niall to direct that smile at _him_ , not Harry.

And Niall doesn’t disappoint. He lights up as soon as they lock eyes, grin sparkling even in the dim room. He hugs Zayn like they’ve met more than a handful of times—which they haven’t. They’ve only seen each other a few times in passing, which doesn’t really count, Zayn thinks.

“Zayn! You all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am” Zayn says, voice stifled against Niall’s shoulder. “You?”

“Always,” Niall says, patting Zayn’s back before pulling away. His hands drag along Zayn’s side as he does, and Zayn wills himself not to think too hard about it.

Louis drapes himself over Niall’s shoulders, and says something into his ear that Zayn can’t make out. Niall _ahh_ s, then leans to the side so he can look at Liam. “And who is this lad?”

Smacking Niall’s shoulder, Louis scowls. “He’s not a lad, Niall. Make him earn that.”

Liam rolls his eyes, but smiles kindly at Niall and extends his arm. “I’m Liam. Not a lad, apparently.”

Niall laughs and takes Liam’s hand. “Niall. Nice to meet you.”

Zayn watches, waiting for Liam and Niall to click and hoping they don’t, because that’d be just his luck, but Liam just nods and turns back to ask the bartender for a drink. Nothing in either of their faces indicate any change, and Zayn knows Liam well enough that he could tell, he’s sure.

“Let’s dance!”

“Fuck, Harry, this isn’t the place to dance.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Maybe you can convince Zayn to go with you to the club later.”

Zayn’s distracted, watching as Niall talks to the zombie-like bartender and somehow makes him laugh with just a few words, but the sound of his name snaps him out of it. Sending a withering look to Louis, Zayn shakes his head.

“You _won’t_ convince me to go with you to the club later, but you can go on your own if you want,” Zayn says. He tries not to grumble into his drink, but it’s hard not to. Clubs are, like, the _worst_. He’d rather be at home, where the chances of ending the night with a headache and vomit in his socks are minimal.

Harry pouts, downs another shot that Zayn didn’t notice him get, and squirms his way into the crowd of people standing and talking. After a few seconds, Zayn can only see his gangly arms waving in what Zayn assumes is a dance of some sort of, offbeat and off-kilter.

“So, who are you here with?” Liam asks.

Niall hums, finishes his mouthful of beer and gestures behind him. “Work people. Won’t notice me go.”

That’s doubtful, Zayn thinks. “I’m sure they’d notice,” he says. Niall is loud and bright; surely people wouldn’t miss it when he left.

Niall just laughs and waves him off. “It’s fine, really. Would rather be with you lot.”

He sounds sincere, but before Zayn can ask if he’s sure, Niall turns to Eleanor and says “Hey, you need a refill, El,” and that’s that.

Zayn orders a shot, and Louis whoops loudly as it burns down his throat. He has a feeling it’s going to be a long night.

 

****

 

They end up at a club, of course, because Niall seemed up for it and Zayn is apparently a pushover for that when he’s drunk. Liam bailed before they left, failing to stifle yawns into his sleeve, because he works long shifts and God knows why he still comes to the bar with them. Louis and Eleanor hopped into a taxi as they were making their way down the block. Not even saying goodbye because they were too absorbed in each other. Fucking soulmates.

So, Harry, Niall, and Zayn end up at the club, Niall’s “work people” long forgotten.

“I love this song!” Harry yells. His hair is matted to his face and there’s only one button still done up on his shirt.

“It’s just instrumental,” Zayn yells back. “Like, this is just a between-songs song.”

Harry looks at Zayn like he insulted his mother. “You’re no fun,” he says. Then, he sticks his tongue out and takes his drink with him as he melts into the crowd, jumping to the music. Zayn hopes he spills it.

“Gotta watch the door, now,” Zayn sighs. Niall looks at him and raises an eyebrow in question, taking a sip of his drink. It’s hard to concentrate with Niall glowing beside him and alcohol blurring the edges of his vision, but Zayn manages to explain. “God knows if he leaves he’ll, like, faceplant into the sidewalk and break his nose.”

“Happened before?”

Zayn looks at him, shaking his head as he remembers. “You don’t want to know.”

Niall laughs, leaning into Zayn’s side with the force of it. They topple into the bar, but there’s a pleased warmth spreading through Zayn’s stomach from making him laugh, so he doesn’t really care.

“You smile lots when you’re drunk,” Zayn says. Now that he says it out loud, and sees Niall’s grin soften, it sounds a lot less casual than he meant it. But, well.

“I smile lots sober, too, like,” Niall says, poking at his own cheeks. “Got good muscles, here.”

Niall winks at him, then makes a vague drinking motion and gestures to the bar in question. While Zayn hums, contemplating whether he should get another one or not, even though it’s against his better judgment, Niall rolls up his sleeves. Seeing Niall’s numbers, grey and still counting down like his own are, relaxes Zayn enough to make him agree.

Hopefully, the way Niall smiles and squeezes his arm around Zayn’s shoulders will be worth the hangover.

 

****

 

“How do you ever do this on your own?”

Zayn stumbles on the curb as he and Niall try to fit Harry into the backseat of the cab. Niall is already sitting inside, leaving Zayn to try and tuck in Harry’s gangly limbs.

“What? Harry?” Zayn grunts quietly, now trying to shove him over so he can get in as well. “He’s not that bad.”

“It took two of us to even get him in the cab,” Niall points out.

A flash of the last time he had to haul Harry home flashes through Zayn’s mind: vomit on his shoes, an ache in his arm, falling asleep pinned under Harry because he wouldn’t let Zayn leave his room. Not to mention waking up with a massive hangover to find that Harry ate the rest of his favourite cereal.

“We still have the front stairs, yet,” is what Zayn says.

Niall groans, and he can’t help but laugh, getting Harry’s hair in his mouth in the process.

It isn’t a long drive—they probably could have walked if Harry wasn’t in danger of tripping and braining himself on the sidewalk, probably dragging them both, or at least Zayn, down in the process—so before Zayn can properly dread the stairs, they’re already facing them. The worst part of living in the city, Zayn thinks, is how up-and-down all the buildings are. All of the apartments, skinny and sardined together for the purpose of making more money.

“Can’t believe you live above a shitty yoga place,” Niall says, hauling one of Harry’s arms over his shoulder.

“Not shitty. Cheap,” Harry mumbles. Zayn thought he’d clocked out for the night. “Cheap yoga. Nice ladies.”

“Rent is good,” Zayn says. Lately it seems like the only redeeming quality about the place.

“Whatever you say.”

It’s a struggle, but they make it up the stairs, Zayn relying more heavily than he’s willing to admit on the railing to keep him upright. Zayn gets his key in the door, and they stumble inside, where Harry immediately flops down onto the couch and starts snoring.

“No, no, c’mon,” Zayn groans, tugging uselessly at Harry’s arms. “The couch is shit for sleeping on. He’ll be complaining for weeks. Get up, Harry.”

“I dunno, don’t think he’s getting up,” Niall says, resting a hand on Harry’s head. “Still think he’d squash you on your own, like.”

Zayn’s vision is still blurry around the edges, and he feels like he has to steer himself to the left in order to walk in a straight line, but he’s fine. “Shut…” he starts, but then his head throbs and it doesn’t seem important enough to finish the thought. Like, who cares when the walls are tilting, you know?

“Bedtime for Zaynie, sounds like.”

Niall’s voice sounds far away, and Zayn figures out why when he walks into the side of his bed and falls on top of it. Beds are more comfy when you’re drunk, he finds himself thinking, not for the first time. Usually the springs creak and dig into his ribs, but now Zayn feels like he’s lying on a cloud. Maybe someone broke in and changed his mattress. God bless.

“You, like, gonna change? Get under the covers at least?”

It’s too much effort to respond or shake his head no, so Zayn just hums in the back of his throat. Niall _gets_ him. Gets how comfy Zayn’s bed is, probably. Zayn spreads his arms, pats the mattress on either side of him. Suddenly, it seems important to ask Niall if he wants to stay over, if he wants to lay on Zayn’s cloud bed with him. He did help him get Harry up the stairs.

“Are you?”

Niall laughs. “You’re so out of it, bro.”

And Zayn wants to object, but his eyelids are too heavy and it’s probably true. Niall’s just right like that.

 

****

 

When Zayn finally peels his eyes open in the morning—at 7am because he agreed for some fucking reason to take someone’s Saturday morning shift—there’s a blanket that Zayn knows has been sitting in their dusty closet for over six months draped over him. He turns onto his side, head throbbing in complaint, and sees a glass of water and a container of Advil there.

Zayn takes two, then squints down at the old receipt that was pinned under the glass. The loopy writing says, _Was fun hanging out with you tonight! Your wallet is on the coffee table. Hope you’re not too hungover! x Niall_ , followed by a sloppily drawn smiley face and a phone number. _(That’s my number. Feel free to text!)_ , Niall’s written right at the end.

He snorts, because who else’s number would it be? Still, Zayn smiles as he puts it into his phone, puts the pints and sun emojis after Niall’s name, and spends the next five minutes trying to will his blush away.

 

****

 

They text sometimes. Not about important things, but Zayn complains about his boss and Niall sends him blurry pictures of all the dogs—and sometimes cats—he sees. The topic isn’t important, but talking to Niall feels important despite it, and Zayn finds himself zoning everything else out whenever his phone pings.

Niall usually mentions it offhandedly if he’s doing something different from his normal routine— _Checkin out this new bar after work ! Will let u kno how tis !_ or _Bout to go see El and Lou should I bug him about never being at his own place anymore ?_ —so it’s a surprise when he shows up on Zayn’s doorstep.

“Heard it was lads night,” he says, clammering through the door with full plastic bags in tow. “Thought I’d bring a gift, or, like, shitty alcohol.”

“That is a gift,” Zayn says, gesturing for Niall to hand him the bags so he can take off his shoes. “Are there any other gifts?”

Laughing, Niall manages to take his shoes off while shutting the door properly on the first try. It’s a minor miracle. Or a sign at least, but Zayn wants to roll his eyes at that thought as soon as it appears. He has to stop thinking about soulmates and fate and how much they just _click_ and _God, why didn’t their clocks stop?_ every time he looks at Niall.

“Nah, don’t think there are.”

“Aw, you were already in our good books, Neil,” Louis says, appearing behind Zayn and reaching forward so he can fluff Niall’s hair. “Now you’re, like, in the best books.”

Niall stares back at Louis, looking a little confused but pleased nonetheless. They’re still standing crammed in the entryway; Zayn elbows Louis until they’re both moving backwards into what’s only loosely considered a kitchen. Liam is standing there munching on some chips, and offers Niall just a little wave. Work always hounds him, and Zayn isn’t surprised to see Liam’s eyebrows furrow when he looks down at his phone.

“Brought _Deadpool_ , too. Harry told me it was a movie night.”

Glancing over at him, Zayn sees that Harry’s looking between him and Niall smugly, smiling like it’s his best work. Zayn glares at him, because Zayn’s wearing sweatpants with holes in them and his hair is greasy under the cap he shoved it under and fuck Harry for not warning him.

“It is. Thanks, bro,” Louis says when no one else responds. “We love that movie. Like, Zayn and I. Dunno if Harry’s seen it.”

Harry shrugs, typing away on his phone with the same proud smile still on his face. It’s almost expected when Zayn’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

_Liam has to leave early, and Lou is staying the night at El’s again after this. ;)_

_Talk to him! And then maybe suck his dick. Keep it quiet though, please, because I have work in the morning. :)_

Asshole.

“Well, pop something in, then. We can start with your sappy whatever movie, Harry.” Harry cheers, and Zayn plops down on the couch. Judging by Louis’ eyebrow waggle, he fails to keep how pleased he feels when Niall sits down next to him from erupting all over his face.

He notices Niall’s every movement, every shift when he crosses his feet and the way he leans into Zayn’s side to grab some popcorn out of the bowl on Louis’ lap and doesn’t fully return to his own side of the couch afterwards. _This is nothing,_ Zayn thinks to himself. _This is absolutely fucking nothing._

 

****

 

“Do you think Wade and Vanessa would have been soulmates?”

Zayn’s eyes sting a bit when he blinks away from the television to look at Niall. Liam’s long gone, Louis left right after the final fight scene, and Harry is curled up snoring on their one armchair. The dim lights of the living room make Niall look softer, more blurred around the edges, and Zayn blames what he says on that.

“Don’t think it would have mattered.”

Something sinks in Zayn’s stomach when Niall shakes his head slightly, turns to look back at the movie. “It matters, mate. Just… It’s just easier with the clocks. Sometimes saves people from getting their hearts crushed.” Niall shrugs, looks down and starts picking at a loose thread on his sweater.

“Maybe if the writers put soulmate clocks into the Marvel universe, like, they could have been,” Zayn allows, if only because Niall looks like Zayn didn’t give him the answer he wanted. “Dunno if their relationship would have been so explosive, though. Figure he’d have still been with her even when he looked completely different.”

Niall hums, the wrinkles on his forehead less prominent now. “I mean, he still might have been nervous as fuck about it, though. And, like, soulmate relationships still aren’t perfect, right?”

They’re quickly moving into dangerous territory, and Zayn suddenly feels dizzy, like the wrong word could send him falling. It’s harder to understand where exactly Niall stands than he thought it would be.

“You could be perfect for each other and it still could go to shit,” Zayn says, slowly, carefully, like he’s walking on glass. “It doesn't always work out, even if you’re good for each other. Things happen.”

“People are more willing to try to make it work if they know they’re soulmates, though,” Niall says.

It feels sort of like they’re arguing, what with the hint of frustration in Niall’s tone. Zayn almost wants to backtrack, just so he can feel like they’re on the same page again. Even though it’s becoming more clear that they aren’t, not really. It sends an ache through Zayn’s chest that spreads to his fingertips.

Niall shakes his head, then turns to Zayn with a slanted grin. “Think being soulmates just means you always come back to each other, even when things are shit, or weird, or when you’re fighting. It’s, like, I don’t know why people bother trying to date or whatever, because one of you will find your soulmate, and the other will be gutted for a while, until they find theirs. Like, sometimes I think, on one hand, you’re both going to end up happy, so you might as well have fun, meet people and such. But I don’t know if there’s a point to being with anyone else when your clock is going to stop for one person. It’s… I don’t know which one is right.”

 _If you like each other, why not do something about it? Why not be happy while you wait? Just because you’re not soulmates doesn’t mean it’s nothing_ , Zayn thinks. _I thought the exact same way until I met you, when nothing fucking stopped. And it’s still throwing me off, because I feel like something should have._

 _I think I might really like you_ , Zayn thinks.

“Yeah, I get that,” is what he says.

Niall hums quietly, face dark now that the end of the credits are rolling. He yawns, and his jaw cracks with it. The noise startles him a bit, and Zayn can’t help but chuckle at his expression.

“It’s late,” Niall says, sighing. He sounds almost sad about it, and Zayn has to remind himself that it’s because they’re friends and not because he’s somehow tipped Niall off of his axis, like Niall’s done to Zayn. “I should get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll walk you out,” Zayn says as they both stand. The door is only about ten steps away, but it’s, like, rude not to walk a guest out, right?

Niall laughs. “Oh good, was worried I’d get lost on my way out,” he says, nudging Zayn with his elbow. Zayn just shoves him back.

It’s still too tense for his liking, though, and Zayn stops Niall in the doorway with a light touch to his elbow.

“Hey, um.” Zayn pauses, knows he’s going to feel stupid saying what he’s going to, but decides to continue anyway. “We’re, like, friends, right?”

“Yeah, Zayn, of course we’re friends,” Niall says, smiling at him as easily as he ever has, and that loosens the knot in Zayn’s chest slightly.

“Okay, that’s, um. That’s all. Just wanted to make sure.”

Rolling his eyes, Niall takes a step back over the threshold to pull Zayn into a hug. “Don’t worry. Soulmates are so fuckin’ weird, like. Everyone has different thoughts about ‘em, so it’s no big deal. Don’t think either of us are wrong or right, like. I like you, so we’re gonna be friends as long as we both want to be.”

Zayn sighs, tucks his chin over Niall’s shoulder and holds him tighter. “Yeah? Good, I was, like, a bit worried it’d be tense or something—”

“Don’t be, Zayn,” Niall pulls away, and Zayn misses his warmth already; he’s always cold. “We’re good.”

“We’re good,” Zayn echoes back, watching as Niall starts slowly making his way to the top of the stairs, the ones that they’d drunkenly hauled Harry up just last week.

“See you soon, Zayn.” Niall gives him a little salute—which is _cute_ , God dammit—and then turns so he can walk down the steps, the metal of them clunking and popping under his weight. Before Zayn does anything stupid, like peek his head around and watch him go, he shoulders the door shut.

He makes his way slowly back into the living room, not caring enough to stop his feet from dragging, where Harry is sitting up, looking at him sadly.

“Sorry, Z,” he says. It’s weighted, and it occurs to Zayn that maybe Harry hadn’t been sleeping at all. Saves him from recounting the conversation, at least.

“It’s— it’s fine. Just sucks, like, a bit.” Zayn looks at Harry, with his big, pitying eyes, and sinks back into the couch. “Okay, it sucks a lot. But I’ll _be_ fine. Stop looking at me like that.”

Harry hauls himself up from the chair and flops down on the couch next to him, cuddling close so his hair tickles at Zayn’s neck.

“I take it back. I know Louis and Liam like him, and so do I, so maybe, like, don’t suck his dick. I mean, if we’re all going to be hanging out together,” Harry mumbles. A laugh startles out of Zayn, and he can practically feel Harry’s satisfaction at it. “Might put a wedge in the group dynamic.”

Zayn’s laugh pitters out, and he pats at Harry’s hip until he takes the hint and gets up. “Yeah, it might.”

He must have sounded dejected again, so Harry leans down to grip Zayn’s left hand, flips it over until he can see his numbers, still that slate grey that makes Zayn sick to his stomach if he looks at it too long.

Harry taps at Zayn’s counter, says, “Yours is out there, so try not to get hung up on Niall, okay?” before he retreats to his room and leaves Zayn sitting alone on their shitty, shitty couch.

With the main menu footage of _Deadpool_ still looping—he’ll have to give it back to Niall another day—Zayn traces his fingers along his forearm and sighs. _203:13:52:10_ , it reads. For the first time, Zayn wonders if getting a tattoo over it would work in hiding the numbers. Or maybe it would break the thing, he thinks bitterly. Wouldn’t _that_ be fantastic.

Zayn picks the remote out from between the cushions and clicks the power button, watching the screen flash and then turn to black, listening to it crackle and fizzle until all is quiet but for the faint sound of Harry snoring.

The thing is, Zayn knows that Harry’s right, and that Zayn’s soulmate is just over two hundred days away from making their debut. It’s just hard to be happy about it knowing that Niall’s clock is ticking for someone else, too.


	3. 125 days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Lex, Janelle, and Andrea for looking this over for me, and to AO3 for screwing up the formatting for this 3 times. One day I'll figure out how this site works, I swear to God.

It’s no surprise that Niall starts hanging out with them a lot more. If they’re not all watching movies in Zayn’s apartment or drinking at the bar, Niall and Zayn run into each other all the time: at the grocery store, at the liquor store, at the park.

Even if they don’t all go to the bar together, sometimes when Zayn is there, Niall shows up with Ellie and his guitar and ends up spending the rest of the night with Zayn. Much to his happiness and simultaneous embarrassment, since the chances of Niall not noticing the massive crush Zayn has on him are minimal. Louis constantly and not-at-all subtly pushing them together is a dead giveaway even if Niall couldn’t already tell that Zayn likes him.

It’s fine, though. Zayn’s working on getting over him.

He figures he’s not doing a very good job of it when Niall calls him and wakes him up on his day off and Zayn doesn’t even mind.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry for calling— wait, are you still sleeping?”

Zayn grunts in response, his brain still foggy and struggling to process what’s going on. “Yeah. I’m asleep. Still answer your calls, though, clearly.”

“You _were_ sleeping. Zayn, it’s like… 4:30 in the afternoon, bro.”

“Weekend is catch-up time. Then I took a nap when I woke up.”

“Ah, fuck. I’m sorry. I’ll find someone else, just go back to sleep—”

It’s Niall’s tone that clears the bleariness from Zayn’s thoughts and has him blinking open his eyes. “No, no. I’m awake now. Should have gotten up awhile ago, anyways. What’s going on?”

Niall laughs nervously, and Zayn can hear someone that sounds stressed talking in the background. “I’m, um, my car? It just broke down. Like, there are all these warning lights on and it won’t start… Are you busy right now?”

“Never for you,” Zayn says. He wants to take the words back as soon as he says them, make them sound more friendly and less like he’s in love with Niall, but it’s too late so he just shakes his head and hauls himself up. “Sorry. Um. Just text me where you are and I’ll be right there.”

As Zayn digs around in his closet for something only minimally wrinkled, Niall sighs in his ear. “You’re a lifesaver. If you could just—”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Whatever you need,” Zayn says, half paying attention as he tries to put on his boots without undoing the laces. “It’s no problem. I’m not doing anything today. Was probably going to ask if you wanted to hang out, later.”

It’s a lie, since Zayn’s not sure if he would have ever asked Niall to hang out with him in anything other than a group setting, but. He likes hanging out with Niall, and the lie doesn’t matter anymore. He’s so fucking screwed.

“Sure, okay. I’ll text you, then?”

Zayn nods, says, “Yep, see you soon, bro,” and then he’s locking the door and jogging down the stairs. There are still sleep crusties in his eyes. God, the things he’d do for Niall. Zayn doesn’t even want to think about it.

 

****

 

Zayn ends up driving to a gas station, where an old SUV is parked with a dejected-looking Niall and a stressed-looking Ellie sitting on the sidewalk beside it.

“Really? You broke down at a gas station?” Zayn laughs as soon as he gets out of his truck. “Need more than a jump, then?”

Niall sighs, standing up and dusting off his legs. “Yeah. Like, it’s probably a connection issue and not the actual battery. Margo here has seen better days, but Jesus. Could yours even give ‘er a boost?”

It’s easy to reach forward and smack Niall’s shoulder, even easier to pull him right into a hug afterwards. “I’m trying to help you out, so stop insulting my truck, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” Niall says, patting at Zayn’s back. “I really appreciate it, bro. Thank you.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Zayn says. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head just to watch how Niall’s expression relaxes enough for him to give Zayn a smile.

Ellie whistles, and they both turn to look at her, now standing beside Zayn’s truck. “Your truck is a monster, Zayn. Are you sure it won’t fall apart if I kick the tire or something?”

For a while, back before Louis met Eleanor, Zayn had thought that maybe Niall and Ellie were soulmates. Now, he’s even happier that they aren’t, because he’d feel bad for wanting to tell her to _get another ride, then._ He wouldn’t do that, of course, but at least he can think about it wistfully instead of guiltily.

“It might, actually. Give it a try,” Zayn says, trying to sound like he’s joking and not like he’s being an asshole.

Ellie shrugs and Niall laughs. It sounds strained, but Zayn’s glad to hear it regardless, so he gives Niall a grin.

With a little effort, they manage to fit all of Ellie’s and Niall’s sound equipment into the cargo bed of Zayn’s old and rather small pickup truck. Niall cheers quietly, then they somehow cram themselves into the front seats and Zayn starts the engine.

“Okay, where are we going to, then?”

Zayn looks to Niall while he waits for the engine to sort itself out. It roars and grumbles for a few seconds before quieting down to a more bearable volume. They have to press close together in the truck, since it has two normal front seats and a smaller one that hardly counts as a seat in between them. Niall, the gentleman, had offered Ellie the window, and now Zayn has to try not to look down at where Niall’s counter is almost touching his arm.

“Erm, it’s on Eastlake. I’ll, like, direct you, if you need to be,” Niall says. He’s too focused on trying to arrange his feet so that they aren’t in Zayn’s way to notice that Zayn definitely doesn’t know which way to go.

“I do need to be directed, actually. Uh. So, if you could...” Zayn pauses and waits for Niall to respond. When he doesn’t, Zayn makes a vague gesture with his hand towards the road. Niall doesn’t look up, and Ellie snorts. Really, it wouldn’t hurt her to be more helpful, but Zayn ignores her. “Hey Niall? Which way first?”

That makes Niall snap his head up, cheeks gone a red that Zayn can’t help but be endeared by. “Oh, uh, left. Sorry, um, car things.”

Zayn nods and turns on his blinker. “Just the one show tonight?”

Glancing over, Zayn sees that Ellie has headphones in, now, and is flicking through her phone. Niall shrugs and it jostles Zayn’s arm.

“Yeah, it’s a big one, though. Like, it’s really diverse and has a lot of different stuff going on but it’s quite popular. Their acts always draw big crowds, so it’s a good chance to get her name out there.”

“Yours too,” Zayn says.

“Nah, not tonight. Only doing a couple songs, me.” Niall’s shoulder twitches, and Zayn suddenly remembers him mentioning something about claustrophobia once. God, why did he never buy a bigger car?

“You okay? Like, if you want you can ask Ellie to switch seats. Or, like, I can roll down a window, or you can drive, even,” Zayn says. He’s already looking for a place to pull into.

Niall leans away from him, and when Zayn glances over, Niall’s looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. “What? Why? I’m fine, Zayn.”

Gesturing helplessly to his tiny, shitty, barely-staying-together car, Zayn says, “Like, is it too claustrophobic, I mean? I know it gets a bit much with three people in here, so I thought maybe you—”

“Zayn,” Niall says, shaking his head with a smile. When he leans back into Zayn’s arm, he feels less tense. “It’s fine. The place isn’t far, and your truck isn’t horrible.”

Zayn spares him a look that sends Niall laughing. “Well, it’s pretty horrible. But I promise I’m not claustrophobic. It’s more, like, lots of people that get me nervous. I still have room, see.” He swings his legs a bit, like he’s trying to prove it to Zayn that he doesn’t mind. It’s hopelessly endearing.

The rest of the ride consists of singing along to the radio, arguing about which station to listen to, and Niall turning the sound down every few seconds to interrupt with directions.

“Wait, Zayn. In 700 feet continue going straight—”

“Niall! You’re not a GPS. Just tell me when to turn like a normal person,” Zayn says. Niall puts on this ridiculous voice, though, and Zayn can’t help but laugh at it, so of course Niall keeps doing it.

Ellie seems to tune everything out. “Getting into her zone,” Niall says in a whisper, rolling his eyes. “Don’t try to talk to her or she’ll smack you.”

They stop by for food, since it’s only early and Ellie is playing in a club, after all. Niall had idly mentioned, almost like he was thinking out loud, that he hadn’t eaten in hours, and without asking, Zayn took the next exit and stopped in at a Denny’s.

By the time they pull up to to the club, it’s almost time to open. Niall’s tapping away on his phone, and soon enough, some burly men come out the back door that Niall greets with huge hugs. Not like Zayn expected any less, really. Niall seems to know at least a few people everywhere, no matter where he goes.

They unload everything significantly faster than when Zayn and Niall loaded it, what with dudes that have arms thicker than Zayn’s whole torso helping out. Zayn ends up only carrying a small stack of papers with song information on it and a keyboard stand inside. Niall holds onto his guitar case like it’s his child, patting it lovingly as soon as he grabs it from its spot right on top of all their other equipment, wedged carefully so that it didn’t go flying anywhere.

“I’m the only one who can take my guitar in,” Niall says. “I have an, um… Zayn?”

“A monopoly?” Zayn says, unable to help the grin that spreads across his face.

“Yeah. My guitar monopoly. I’ll have to get one of ‘em hats and a suit.”

“You could pull off a monocle, I think.”

Niall looks genuinely touched, and Zayn hooks one of his arms around Niall’s shoulders, careful not to nudge the guitar case. The body builder friends Niall has have everything under control, the cargo bed already almost empty.

“You’re a real charmer, Zayn Malik.”

Zayn blushes, and Niall reaches up to poke at his cheeks, which definitely doesn’t help. “Ahh, I try.”

 

****

 

Niall really does only play his guitar for two songs: one cover and one of Ellie’s originals. After that, Niall quietly leaves, and Ellie’s songs get more electronic as the club fills up throughout the night.

Zayn’s sitting at one of the few seats at the bar, slowly sipping on a glass of Coke and watching everyone dance. It’s all jumping and grinding and it looks a bit ridiculous if he focuses too hard on the people individually instead of the movement of them as a whole.

He’d rather be watching Niall play his guitar, but he at least got to watch Niall for two whole songs, so beggars can’t be choosers. It’s just that Niall gets so into it, is what Zayn tells himself. It’s mesmerizing. And it’s not like Zayn really knows where else to look besides Niall, anyways.

“How do you manage to look so good just sitting at a bar?”

Zayn jumps, but is smiling before he even fully turns to face Niall. He’s a bit sweaty, and his hair has started drooping, but he looks like he’s lit from within.

“Ha. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m so underdressed, bro.”

Motioning to the bartender, Niall leans his elbow on the bar next to Zayn and rolls his eyes. “No such thing with you.”

That’s ridiculous, Zayn thinks. He’s wearing a pair of jeans he’s had since uni, so they’re ripped to hell and back and covered in paint, paired with a tank top that has a snake on it. Niall can’t possibly think he’s appropriately dressed for a night out. Still, Zayn doesn’t know how to reply to Niall, considering how sincere he sounded, so Zayn just raises his glass in a cheers and takes another gulp.

 

****

 

Zayn hasn’t been out clubbing in a while—hauling Harry out and dragging him home doesn’t really count as _going to the club_ , Niall points out—but he’s sure this is way more intense than he’s ever experienced.

For one, the club feels surprisingly small. There are two rooms, and another level that overlooks one of the huge dance floors, but it’s packed so tight that it feels like Zayn’s back in his dorm room that’s hardly bigger than a closet. Almost surprisingly, everyone is dancing. The only people who aren’t are the ones waiting for drinks. Usually Zayn can stand along the outskirts and have a few people as company, but it seems like here isn’t the place for that.

So, unsurprisingly, when Niall finds him later, Zayn is outside.

“Too much?”

Zayn startles a bit at Niall’s voice, barely audible over the sounds of the city.

“Yeah. Gets too warm,” Zayn says. Niall moves to lean against the wall next to Zayn. Apparently he doesn’t mind the smoke, but Zayn still tries to blow it away from him when he exhales. “You?”

Niall shrugs, moving closer to Zayn so their shoulders nudge. “Yeah. The room farthest from us doesn’t have as many people in it, but still gets to be, like, a lot. Sorry I lost you for a while.”

“Don’t worry about it. _I’m_ sorry for losing _you_ , like…” Zayn sighs. “Sucks even more to be anxious surrounded by people you don’t know than it does being alone.”

When Zayn looks over at Niall, he’s staring at him with this look in his eyes that makes Zayn’s heart stutter. He looks almost awed, and Zayn’s exhale comes out a little shaky.

“You’re always, like, looking out for me.” Niall taps at Zayn’s arm to get him to look into his eyes again before he continues. “Thank you, yeah? It means so fucking much to me.”

Zayn tries to smile back at him, but Niall caught him off guard, so he’s sure it looks a bit wobbly. “It’s nothing. I’ll always look out for you. You’re my friend, Niall.”

Niall’s eyes flit across Zayn’s face, and his hand moves from Zayn’s arm to hold his cheek. The air outside is cool now, the sun having set ages ago, and Niall’s palm feels too warm on his cheek. Like the sun on a particularly warm day, or when you sit too close to a campfire, but it’s good, and Zayn doesn’t want to pull away. Niall’s fingers tap lightly against Zayn’s cheekbone, and he sighs quietly, smile twisting until Niall’s frowning at him, sad and apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” Niall says.

The words, “ _for what?_ ” are on the tip of his tongue, but Zayn thinks they both know, so he bites them back. He takes another drag of his cigarette, before he does something stupid like kick and scream the way he wants to. Before he reveals too much of himself, tries to tell Niall how good they could be and how much Zayn cares for him. Zayn knows he couldn’t handle hearing Niall tell him that it isn’t enough. That they aren’t soulmates so it’ll never happen. He has a feeling that conversation isn’t too far from happening, though.

Zayn doesn’t want Niall to have to apologize in the first place, but yet here they are.

“Anyways, um, I found a room off of the main hallway,” Niall continues, still holding Zayn’s cheek in his hand. Zayn leans into it now, figuring Niall is in the mood to indulge him. Sure enough, he doesn’t move his hand away. “I think you’d like it. Can show you when you want to go back in. ‘S less crowded, too.”

The cigarette is almost done, so Zayn nods slowly. Niall moves his hand back as Zayn takes the last drag and Zayn’s fingers twitch to grab his wrist and keep it there. It’s a bit too revealing, though, and Zayn suddenly remembers that Niall’s been drinking, so he could very well have not done any of this in his right mind.

When he stubs the cig out, Niall pats his shoulder like nothing is unusual, and they make their way back inside without touching again.

 

****

 

Turns out, the club they’re at has a room with couches and a few arcade games. Zayn regrets not using his data to look up this place, because the night would have been a lot more enjoyable if he’d known about this. Niall had grinned at him as soon as they walked in, and Zayn can only imagine the elated look on his own face. He’d be worried that Niall would think he’s a nerd if Niall himself didn’t bring Zayn in here knowing he’d love it.

Niall leaves a few times to get drinks and refill Zayn’s Coke while Zayn works on beating the high score on _Ms. Pacman_. It doesn’t take long for him to do, considering he’s wasted a shitton of quarters on it in his lifetime and the game doesn’t seem to be played that often. It _is_ a club, so people are probably more interested in dancing, Zayn thinks. Still, he’s pleased and accepts the high-five Niall offers him.

Zayn’s just started a game of _Space Invaders_ when Niall gets the text.

“Erm,” Niall starts. “Zayn?”

Zayn dies embarrassingly quickly, and he fails to stifle his noise of disappointment when he turns to Niall. “Yeah?”

“Ellie is going home with someone,” Niall says, squinting down at his phone. “So it’s just you and me now.”

“Oh, okay. Um. What about your car?”

Niall waves him off. “Already got my mechanic friend to look after it. Picked up my spare key and got it towed to his shop.”

When did Niall do that? Zayn can’t remember, but he nods anyways. “And um, the stuff? Like, yours and Ellie’s equipment?”

“Picking it up tomorrow. Have friends who work here. Just taking my guitar and I’m good,” Niall says.

They’re quiet, then, the walls still vibrating from the bass but muted enough that they can talk at a normal volume. There’s someone passed out on the couch Niall isn’t on, their head in a girl’s lap. She’s on her phone and not paying attention to them, Zayn doesn’t think. The night is more or less over, since Niall looks like he’s moved into the tired brand of tipsy and Zayn knows he won’t be dancing.

“Did you want to go now?”

Niall shrugs. When he stands up, he looks a little unsteady but not to the point where he’s falling over. “Yeah, a’ight.”

The club is considerably less packed, now. It closes at two, and according to Zayn’s phone it’s 1:50. Most people left dancing look worse for wear, and the bartenders are working on wiping down the counters. Security gives them a nod, and then Zayn and Niall are outside.

“Wait, wait,” Niall says, reaching back to grab at Zayn’s arm. “I wanted to show you…”

He trails off, but Zayn still lets Niall tow him around the side of the building. It’s chilly, and neither of them thought to bring a jacket. Niall’s hand, as always, though, is warm around Zayn’s wrist, and he’ll take what he can get, really.

It turns out, Niall leads them back to the parking lot, but directs them towards a wall Zayn hadn’t seen when they got there. Niall looks at him, all bright and proud, and Zayn can’t help the way his mouth drops open a bit.

“Holy shit.”

“I know, right?” Niall says. “I don’t know anything about graffiti, so I figured you’d appreciate this more than I can. Even though I still think it’s pretty sick.”

“ _So_ fucking sick,” Zayn says. He reaches his fingers out to trail across the stark black lines. The whole wall is covered in graffiti, bright colours slashing across each other to the point where no wall is visible. It doesn’t look like it’s ever been properly painted over, just layers upon layers of colour, some of it still shiny and other pieces dulled by the environment. It’s stunning.

“It’s beautiful, huh?”

Zayn just nods, tries to take in as much of it as he can without getting overwhelmed. Niall just stands back silently and lets him, and Zayn can’t help but feel another pang of sadness. The _what if_ that he knows they won’t try to see through, because it’s not what Niall wants. But Niall cares about him, as more than a friend, even, and that’ll just have to be enough even if it’s never acted on.

Soon enough, Niall starts shivering, teeth chattering audibly even though it looks like he’s trying to hide it. Zayn slings an arm around his shoulder and rubs at Niall’s arms, and Niall smiles at him apologetically.

“Let’s get you home, then.”

 

****

 

Zayn pulls up to Niall’s apartment just after 2:30. He’s still never been inside, Zayn realizes, but it’s whatever. Niall will invite him over if he wants to.

Niall’s sitting in the actual passenger seat now, guitar case clamped between his legs, hugging the neck of it to his chest. He was quiet during most of the car ride, only directing Zayn back to familiar territory, and he’s still quiet, unmoving as he stares out the window at the apartment building.

Putting the truck in park, Zayn sighs. “You okay? You have your keys and stuff, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” Niall mumbles, tearing his gaze away from his front door to look back at Zayn. He looks considering, eyes searching and lips pulled tight.

“We’re, um…” Zayn says, pauses to gauge Niall’s expression. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, but Niall’s looking at him like he’s not planning on leaving without having it. “We’re okay, right?”

Niall chuckles softly, though nothing’s really funny, Zayn doesn’t think. “You’re always asking me that, mate.”

“Sometimes I’m not sure we are,” Zayn whispers, words catching in his throat.

The radio is just playing static, now, and Niall reaches out to shut it off completely. “I mean, like. It’s better this way, for both of us. I don’t want to get hurt, or hurt you, and actually doing something about—about _this_ would hurt you more than I already have.”

Zayn sucks in a breath, something tight clenching around his chest and threatening to crush his lungs. “We’ve already hurt each other, so why not try?”

“No, Zayn,” Niall says. He sounds so— so sad, but so _decided_ that it rips Zayn’s heart out. “I don’t want to make either of us feel any worse. We don’t like each other like that. It won’t work, because we aren’t soulmates.”

When Zayn stays quiet, heart beating too loud in his ears and his eyes stinging, Niall leans forward and gestures towards Zayn’s forearm. “May I?” He thinks if he looks at Niall he’ll start crying, so Zayn just nods and glances at his numbers when Niall flips his hand over. _125:12:06:30_. Niall holds out his own arm, and his counter reads under ninety days. Zayn closes his eyes against the tears blurring his vision and wishes Niall would just go inside.

“You’re one of my best friends. We’ll find our soulmates, and I don’t want either of us to be all sad and shit in the time between when I find mine and you find yours,” Niall says. “Like, that’s over a month between us, Zayn, and that can still change, more or less. I don’t want things to be weird, and I don’t want to lose you as a friend if it ends badly. This is for the best, yeah?”

His words are firm though repetitive, and while it makes sense on a shallow level, Zayn doesn’t really care at this point. More than anything, he doesn’t want Niall to rationalize this. He wants to kiss him even though it’ll burn, to pull Niall close enough that when Zayn pulls away, he’ll leave a piece of his heart tucked behind Niall’s ribcage in the process. He wants Niall even though he knows it’ll hurt.

“It’s nothing, anyways. I just think you’re attractive and thought we could give it a shot, so it’s no big deal. Knew you weren’t into relationships. I’ll be over it in a week.” He’s lying, and it jams tight in his throat. “Goodnight, Niall,” Zayn says when Niall doesn’t reply. He sounds choked, but Zayn can’t bring himself to be embarrassed about it. Niall does that to him, it seems.

He hears Niall sigh, then unbuckle his seatbelt. Zayn keeps his eyes shut until he hears the door open and shut, and even then he waits a few seconds until he’s confident he won’t start crying.

Still, he doesn’t leave yet, because Niall has still been drinking and Zayn needs to make sure he gets inside okay. He watches as Niall slings his guitar case over his back and makes his way up to the front door, imagines a world where he could run after him and wishes he was there.

Before Niall moves to dig his keys out of his pocket, he scrubs at his face with his palms, stands there with his hands over his eyes for a few seconds before he visibly deflates. For all his confidence and set rules when he was sitting in the truck, he doesn’t look like someone happy with the decision he just made. Zayn’s chest constricts again, and he pulls out into the road as soon as Niall has the key in the lock, before he gives himself hope that maybe Niall doesn’t care as much about the consequences as he seems to.

Neither Louis nor Harry are home when Zayn walks in, which is shit because while he wouldn’t say it, he really doesn’t want to sleep alone tonight. He doesn’t bother turning on any lights, just drops his phone on his bedside table and crawls under the covers. It’s cold, and Zayn tries not to think about how warm Niall is, and how quickly he’d chase away the chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry I took so long to update. Not to make excuses, but my grandma died at the very end of August and my sort-of-relationship ended in the beginning of September, so I think my excuses are valid tbh, and also possibly why this chapter is a sad-fest (sorry). My friends have been amazing helping me get through everything and get back into writing, and they know who they are. Thank you all for being patient with me. 
> 
> Also probably should have tagged angst earlier, but we're here now.


	4. 61 days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I always post updates after midnight my time? Jeeesh.
> 
> Thank you to Lex and Andrea for looking this over for me. Also, I'm very sorry if the format of the soulmate counters has been confusing. For reference it's set up like _days:hours:minutes:seconds_.

_22, Miami, USA. 1,637 days._

_30, Bouskoura, Morocco. 382 days._

_52, Nova Lima, Brazil. 40 days._

“You don’t actually think this shit will work, do you?”

It’s best to just ignore Louis most of the time, Zayn’s figured out. For the record, he _doesn’t_ think that the website he’s idly clicking through will actually help him find his soulmate faster. Just yesterday, his clock jumped up by two days, then down by seven not two hours later. It’s almost a given that you won’t find your soulmate before your counter is at least down to two weeks or less. Thank God.

The idea behind the website is that you’ll see someone and your counter will jump forward, or so it says under the ‘about’ tab. Zayn doesn’t know enough about the way the clocks work to believe it, but it seems plausible enough. Zayn’s has just kept ticking on as it normally does, but it’s not like he expected anything else.

Zayn doesn’t say anything. He just listens as Louis sighs in exasperation but still flops down on the bed beside him.

“Find anything promising?”

So he’s not going to let it go. Typical.

“You know I haven’t,” Zayn says. “There are some people on here in their _seventies,_ Lou. Imagine living over half of your life without meeting your soulmate while people are telling you it’s all that matters. Might have missed out on shit that would’ve made them happy because of that.”

Louis flips over so that he’s laying on his back next to where Zayn is on his stomach. The look Louis gives him is pitying and definitely the last thing Zayn wants to see.

“How’s Niall, then?” Louis asks. He’s trying to come off casual by the sounds of it, but it doesn’t work. Nothing about Niall has been _casual_ to Zayn for a while now. As much as he’d like it to be otherwise.

“He’s fucking fantastic. I’m his best bro and he avoids talking about soulmate stuff like it’s the plague,” Zayn says. He pauses to scrub at his face, trying to force away the frown that’s pulling at his mouth. “It’s been _two months,_ and he said he didn’t want things to be weird, but it doesn’t help me stop liking him when he acts the same. Think I’d rather it be weird. Maybe it’d be easier…”

Zayn trails off, and Louis makes an empathetic noise as he reaches over to pat clumsily at Zayn’s cheek.

“To be fair, you’re very weird all on your own.”

“Fuck off.” Zayn bats at Louis’ arm, and they end up halfheartedly swatting at each other until Zayn gives up with his chin in Louis’ firm grip.

“No, honestly, Zayn. You’re all earnest and sincere and shit, even after he stepped on your heart like it’s a bug. Niall’s the type to pretend all is peachy for other people’s sake. He probably feels bad but is playing it off like nothing so it doesn’t, like, make anything worse.”

Zayn licks at Louis’ hand until he yanks it away. “First of all, don’t call my heart a bug. I’m still sad and you’re being very mean about it. Second, how could it get worse? He’s not my soulmate and I’m doing a shitty job at getting over him. Of course he feels bad for me.”

“No, I mean he feels bad because he isn’t your soulmate. Like, bad in general not as in he’s pitying you or something. Jesus, Zayn, you’re really the life of the party today.” Louis grumbles, flipping over onto his stomach and shoving at Zayn until he can get his hands on the keyboard of his laptop.

“What are you doing?” Zayn sighs, resting his head on his forearm. He’s pretty resigned to the fact that Louis is going to do whatever he wants, so he might as well just let it happen. There’s a lot of typing and clicking going on in quick succession. Zayn isn’t sure he wants to know.

After a few minutes, during which Zayn didn’t look up for even a second, Louis clicks something rather harshly and then shuts Zayn’s laptop.

“Messaging Harry. El and I are watching movies here tonight so he’s going to take you out. You’re going to get drunk and maybe get laid, and you’re going to have a good time even if he has to force you to.”

Zayn keeps his face down, lets out a long groan and doesn’t stop until Louis hits him over the back of his head with a pillow.

“I don’t need to go out, Lou. I’m _fine,_ just—”

“I know, I know,” Louis says, even though Zayn wasn’t even sure how he was going to finish that thought. “Tell me more about it. Might help. Like, are you mad at him? We don’t have to hang out with him as much anymore if you don’t want.”

“No, not mad. It’s just, like— Seeing him makes me feel like shit, but not seeing him makes me feel shittier.” Zayn feels his shoulders sag when Louis slings his arm around them, and he scrubs at his own face before he continues. “Like, I know he’s not talking about soulmates for my sake. And he’s, like, pretty clearly over this crush or whatever by now and is just waiting for me to catch up. God, it’s so fucking awkward.”

Louis rests his chin on Zayn’s collarbone, and Zayn tries to match his breathing with the rising and falling of Louis’ that he can feel against his back. He thought it’d become easier with time, to be around Niall after he told Zayn that they wouldn’t work. Also, he’s pretty sure it’s just him feeling like this, which is definitely worse.

“Changed my mind. Don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” Zayn mumbles into his elbow.

Louis sighs heavily. “Okay. I’ll go get you some booze for pregaming, then. Harry will be here to pick you up in an hour.” 

 

****

 

“Zayno!”

Zayn turns on his barstool and spots Niall, waving and smiling at Zayn like he’s his favourite person. Funny how Zayn’s only here because Louis is trying to force him to get over Niall, he thinks bitterly. His heart still flutters and aches at the sight of him, though. If only Niall was less— less _Niall,_ it’d be easier to get over him.

“Niall, how’re you doing?”

“Good! Real good,” Niall says. His cheeks are flushed—probably from the alcohol—and he’s a bit sweaty, hair all fluffed up. In general, Niall just looks like a tipsy mess, and Zayn hates himself for still thinking that he looks cute. “Just out with Ellie and her, uh, friends? Or, um, networking people, maybe.”

 _Ahh-_ ing, Zayn nods like isn’t internally cursing himself out for somehow always dragging Niall away from hanging out with other people. Zayn knows it’s not technically his fault, and Niall doesn’t _have_ to say anything to him, but he probably feels some sort of obligation to hang out with Zayn when he’s sitting alone drinking at a bar.

“Sorry to take you away, like—”

“Stop it, Zayn.” Niall rolls his eyes and cuts Zayn off with a wave of his hand. The words he was going to say catch and stick in his throat.

“Stop what?”

“Like, implying that you think I’d rather hang out with other people than with you. I won’t let this get weird, okay?” Niall squeezes at Zayn’s shoulder. “Like, I know you’re trying to be nice and give me an out. I see right through that. But you don’t need to give me an out I don’t need. Unless you want out, then, like, you can tell me.”

Zayn’s still frozen, the glass in his hand halfway to his lips. It was almost automatic, providing Niall with an excuse to leave. He didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“Just didn’t want you to feel awkward. I’m good, don’t worry about it,” Zayn lies, snapping himself out of his trance to take a generous gulp of his drink.

That makes Niall tilt his head to the side and give Zayn a curious look. Zayn’s eyes are burning because he drank too fast, and Niall definitely picks up on it. “Okay, but it looks like I _should_ be worrying, or something,” Niall says, gesturing to Zayn’s almost-empty glass.

“No, it’s really fine. Forget about it, really.”

Niall looks like he wants to ask Zayn about it, but thankfully just shakes his head slightly with a shrug and an, “Okay.” Zayn’s not sure if he’d rather Niall push it, if he’d rather they fight so he can feel something besides this sharp heartache when he looks at him. He gestures to the bartender, and they sit in silence, Zayn looking out at the people dancing and trying not to make it obvious that he’s glancing at Niall out of the corner of his eye.

“Let’s just get this out of the way,” Niall says, taking a sip of his drink before continuing. As if Zayn’s stomach didn’t drop as soon as he opened his mouth. “We like each other. I’m, like, getting over it because we’re good as friends. We’re so good as friends, Zayn.” Niall pauses again, to take another drink, and Zayn’s not sure if he wants to stop this conversation or if he wants Niall to just rip off whatever bandage he’s pulling on.

“And, like, I know you probably feel awkward as shit, but you really don’t need to, yeah? We’re good. You’re gonna move on, because we’re not quite right for each other, and like. We’re gonna be fine.”

The air leaves his lungs in one big whoosh, and Zayn nods dizzily. Something in his chest unclenches, and he resists the urge to stretch out the ache it leaves. Sure, right now looking at Niall has Zayn wanting to melt into the floor, and he wants to kiss the flush to his cheeks and the moles on his neck, but it won’t always be this way. Zayn can get over Niall. He totally can.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Zayn says, and watches at Niall relaxes. He didn’t even realize Niall looked so tense. Zayn holds up his drink. “Friends, yeah?”

Niall grins, clinking their glasses together. “Of course.” He downs the rest of his pint, hand gesturing for another before it’s even gone. Zayn takes a sip of his own, watches Niall’s throat bob and mentally berates himself for it.

Zayn feels significantly less confident in his ability to get over this crush, now. In fact, he’s sure he’s going to be pretty bad at it. At least he doesn’t feel the need to bolt from the bar anymore.

“So, what are you doing here all by yourself?” Niall asks once his refill is in his hand.

“Guess I’m technically alone, aren’t I?” Zayn says, laughing when Niall just looks at him with his eyebrow raised. “Harry dragged me here, then got pissed when I wouldn’t dance with him, and now he’s, um, out there. Somewhere. I’m pretty sure.”

Niall hums, moves like he’s trying to see over everyone’s head. “Think I see a wayward arm.”

Zayn laughs, doesn’t bother trying to see what Niall is talking about in favour of continuing to stare at him. “Probably Harry.”

Pleased, Niall turns to look at Zayn. He slides off his barstool, leaning towards Zayn so he can tap his fingernails on Zayn’s glass. Zayn’s heart stutters in his chest, sounding too loud in his ears. God, Zayn is _so_ fucking bad at this.

“How many more of these…” Niall starts. His voice is teasing and quiet enough that Zayn can hardly hear him over the music. Still, the sound of it makes Zayn hold his breath in anticipation when Niall continues, “… will it take to get you to dance, then?”

Zayn pretends to think, taking a sip to hide the fact that his surprise is probably plastered all over his face. Harry has never gotten Zayn to dance with him, no matter how long he begged for or how sad his pout was. He’s not sure if he can say no to Niall for as long.

“Dunno. Why would I tell you my limit, anyways?” Somehow, he comes off as cool and unaffected, which is about as far from the truth as it could get.

Zayn tries not to smile too hard and give himself away as faking it when the bartender slides two shots along the countertop into Niall’s waiting hands. Zayn hadn’t even noticed him ask for them, this time. He takes a second to internally apologize to both their bank accounts and their livers.

“Guess I’ll have to find out for myself, then, won’t I?” Niall says.

Suddenly, a hand slams down on the counter next to Zayn’s drink.

“Hellooooooo,” Harry slurs. He seems to appear out of nowhere, even though Harry is whatever the exact opposite of being sneaky is. “Oh, shit, Niall. Hi. Um… Zayn? I need to talk to you for a minute. Without Niall here. In private. Like, no Niall.”

Zayn barely conceals his eyeroll, and Niall snorts, which is pretty nice of him considering Harry’s tone. “Yeah, alone. We got it.”

They end up in the hallway that leads to the washrooms. Harry tugs them into a small area off of it with only a broken ATM and a fire exit in it. The music is muffled, so Zayn can hear it when Harry sighs deeply.

“What?”

Harry looks at him, eyes all big and apologetic. Zayn’s already anxious about whatever it is he’s about to say. “You can’t get mad at me, okay?”

“Probably can. Spit it out.”

Harry runs his hands through his hair, then says, “Louis lied.”

There’s a stretch of time where Zayn just looks at him, because, like, yeah. He waits on Harry to follow up with something Zayn doesn’t already know, but he just wrings his hands together and stretches his neck to look over Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn turns but just sees the bar, and more specifically, Niall sitting with their drinks.

“Lied about _what,_ Harry?” It’s like pulling fucking teeth with him.

“We aren’t here to, like, just have a fun time. I mean, we are,” Harry stumbles over his words, looking equal parts pitying and defensive. “But, like, Louis set you up. Like, a date with a guy who doesn’t mind dating a non-soulmate. Or, wait, not a date, a hookup thing. And he’s at the bar now. Louis threatened to flush your fish if you ditch, by the way. Dunno how serious he was. And I’m very sorry.”

Harry should be grateful Zayn doesn’t hit him, honestly. He’s going to kill Louis when he gets home. Just thinking about trying to impress someone right now has Zayn almost physically recoiling. He didn’t want to go out in the first place.

“Not sorry enough,” Zayn snaps. Harry’s face falls, and Zayn almost feels bad. But Harry could have told him earlier, so really. “Fuck. Is it like— did Louis promise this dude I’d sleep with him? I’m going to kill him. And if he flushes my fish, I swear to God—”

“No, no!” Harry says. “I’m gonna tell him you met with him either way, for Nemo’s sake. He told me it’s more like a, _‘Let’s meet and see if we click, and if it does we’ll hook up but if not no worries’_ kind of thing. There’s no pressure to actually, like, do anything. But he is here. Just by the way.”

Zayn is still going to kill him.

“Fine. Where is he?”

Harry looks like he’s about to pass out with relief. He shakes himself out of it, then turns Zayn around with a grip on his shoulders. “The tall brunette by the bar. Navy blue shirt.”

The guy—who isn’t really Zayn’s type, judging by the looks of him—is standing right next to Niall. It’s hard not to compare them when they’re beside each other like that, which isn’t really fair.

“He have a name?”

Harry holds up his finger, pulls out his phone and clicks around a bit before clearing his throat. “According to Louis’ text, his name is Matt and he’s a personal trainer. He was born in Alabama, he loves hiking, he was in a fraternity when he was in college, he’s a scorpio—”

“Don’t need his whole biography, thanks. And _why_ did Louis think I’d be into this guy?”

Harry half-shrugs, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Because he’s nothing like Niall. Louis said it’d be easier for you that way, and like. I really don’t know. You definitely have a type and this guy is… Not.”

Sighing, Zayn turns away from Harry. “Just please don’t let Louis flush my fish,” he says, because he’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t, but ‘pretty sure’ isn’t _sure_ sure. Then, dread weighing down his entire body, he makes his way towards the bar.

Thankfully, Niall has moved away by the time Zayn gets there, so he’s not in Zayn’s line of vision when he taps Matt on the shoulder.

“Uh, you’re Matt, right?”

The guy turns to him, “Yeah, and you’re Zayn?” he replies, and okay. _Okay._ He isn’t bad looking. Like, at all. He sticks out his hand to shake, and— his hand is fucking massive, and Zayn finally notices that Matt is _way_ taller than him. He resists the urge to stand on his tiptoes or some other ridiculous shit.

 _God,_ Louis.

“Nice to meet you,” Matt says. He smiles, and the club lights reflect off of his teeth. Too bright, and not in the good way Zayn’s used to.

But Zayn can totally do this. He needs to forget about Niall for a while so he can start actually getting over him.

“Nice to meet you, too, Matt.”

 

**** 

 

Zayn’s been chatting with Matt on and off for a half hour, and he knows he _really_ can’t do this.

Matt apparently knows a lot of people—which is odd, because shouldn’t Zayn have seen him at least once before if he, too, comes to this club all the time? Maybe Zayn is just bad at paying attention. Or just bad at paying attention to people that aren’t Niall, because Zayn’s definitely been clocking his every move.

As Matt looks away, to order another drink or to greet one of his many, _many_ friends, Zayn sweeps his gaze around the room and finds Niall too quickly considering how crowded it is. There are tons of blonde guys around, and Zayn can’t even make an excuse to himself.

Sometimes, Niall catches him looking. Other times, Niall’s already looking at him. Every time, though, Zayn’s heart lurches, and he can’t bring himself to feel bad about being so distracted on this sort-of-date because his stomach is tipsy-warm and he didn’t even set this up himself, so _fuck._

“—And we looked everywhere but we could _not_ find my Hydro Flask. But it was so expensive so we couldn’t just give up there, right? Not like I can’t afford another one but it’s the principle of it, you know?”

Zayn nods. He definitely doesn’t ‘know.’ Why would someone buy a glorified water bottle that costs fifty dollars? He _does_ know that Niall’s ordering another rum and Coke on the other side of the bar.

“—I just think fraternities get a bad rep. They really aren’t that bad. Or mine wasn’t, at least…”

Zayn hums. Thinks about how sometimes Niall looks like a frat boy when he wears his snapbacks backwards, takes out his phone and opens his messages absentmindedly.

“Zayn? Are you spacing out?”

 _Yes._ “No, sorry. Just, uh, gotta tell my friend how late I’ll be.”

 **_Zayn:_ ** _I fucking hate you so much_

 **_Louis:_ ** _??? why are u lying to me like this_

“No, I can see you spacing out,” Matt says. He’s frowning, now, and Zayn feels bad.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says. Matt’s face is blurring around the edges a bit. “I don’t mean to, like…”

“I get it,” Matt says. “Like, it’s not clicking. No biggie.”

Zayn’s already shaking his head, though he doesn’t know why he’s so intent on correcting Matt. His head feels too heavy and his stomach is churning. “It’s not— Like, you seem nice, but I’m, like, not in the right place mentally to be doing this. I’m sorry.”

When Matt shrugs, it makes Zayn feel even worse. Because while Louis set Zayn up, from his end it was Zayn agreeing to go on a date with him (or something? What did Louis even _do?_ Zayn’s not sure he wants to know how that conversation went). Where does he go from here?

It feels like Zayn’s saving grace when Harry runs up to him, frantically tapping at his shoulder and hopping on his feet. “Zayn! _ZaynZaynZaynZaynZayn!”_

Matt chuckles, pats lightly at Zayn’s knee with one hand and grabs his drink with the other. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Maybe we’ll see each other around.” He nods, and then he’s making his way into the crowd of people. Unlike Niall, Zayn loses track of him within seconds.

Meanwhile, Harry is still jumping beside him, eyes all wide and grin looking like it’s about to split his face in half.

“What, Harry?” Zayn sighs.

“I found my soulmate!”

And Zayn’s stomach sinks. He could have sworn Harry’s counter was higher than his was not a week ago. “I thought you were farther away than I was.”

Harry makes a face and looks away. “Mine jumped like… _way_ ahead a little while back. Didn’t wanna tell you when you were still all mopey over Niall.” Harry at least looks a bit guilty now, but he quickly shrugs it off and goes back to tapping incessantly at Zayn’s shoulder. Even though Zayn’s already looking at him. God.

“Okay, tell me about them, then,” Zayn says, partly because Harry looks happy and partly because Harry is going to tell him anyways. He looks like he’s about to burst.

 _“God,_ Zayn, she’s so pretty,” Harry starts, sighing deeply and plopping down on the stool Matt was just sitting on. Their knees knock together, and Zayn’s feeling just bitter enough to turn his body away from Harry and towards the bar. “She’s like, got this _smile,_ and she laughed at my joke, and she’s… pretty…like, and her lipstick…”

Harry trails off, and Zayn can practically see the hearts in his eyes. Zayn lets him zone out and beckons to the bartender. He’s probably drinking too much tonight, he idly thinks, but tonight’s been exceptionally shitty, so. It calls for exceptional drinks, as well. Nothing is tasting all that great, but they’ll do. Whatever.

“You going out soon?”

“Yeah, next Friday. Like, gave her my number,” Harry says, propping his elbow on the countertop, then his chin on his hand. Zayn’s refill is set in front of him, and Harry sends him a disapproving look, which— come _on._ Does Harry suddenly not remember every single weekend they spent together in the past three years?

“Should probably slow down,” Harry says, looking all concerned and hypocritical.

“Real rich coming from _you,_ bro,” Zayn says. His voice has gone all clipped at the end, and he doesn’t _want_ to be mad at Harry, really, but. “I deserve one night. Anyways. Does this girl have a name or anything?”

It’s almost worth the whole night, actually, watching Harry’s face go from mushy to concerned to totally blank.

“Oh… my god.”

“You _didn’t_ get her name?” Zayn laughs, watching Harry’s eyebrows go all furrowed and stressed-looking, mouth pulling down. “Calm down, it’s not that big of a deal. She has your number and you’ll see her in less than a week.”

“She definitely, like, told me. I think. I’m pretty sure,” Harry runs his hands through his hair, looking on the verge of a breakdown. “Oh, my God.”

Zayn feels a pressure on his shoulder, and when he turns to look, it’s Niall’s elbow. He’s smiling at them, looking unsure of if he should be. Zayn's vision is bleary around the edges and his thoughts feel like they’re looping around his head. They’re mostly about Niall: his easy grin, the flush on his cheeks, how soft and messy his hair looks. Like a wheat field.

“Wheat? Zayn…” Niall laughs, smacks lightly at Zayn’s arm. “What’re you on, mate?”

Zayn shrugs, just smiles back at him. Because Niall is laughing and glowy and if Matt wasn’t already totally forgotten, he definitely would be now. Niall deserves Zayn’s biggest smiles, and Niall looks even happier when Zayn does, so it’s a win-win.

“Hey,” Niall says, turning to Harry. “What’s up?”

When Harry just stares at his phone, making a noise that could mean anything in response, Niall rolls his eyes and turns to Zayn.

“He met his soulmate,” Zayn whispers.

Or maybe he doesn’t whisper, considering Harry makes another noise, this time clearly stressed.

“That’s awesome, though?” Niall chews on his bottom lip, looking between the two of them confusedly. “What’s her name, then? What’s she like.”

Harry lets out a long groan, smacks his arms down onto the counter and plops his head pathetically down on them. “She’s lovely and she’s _emojis.”_

“He doesn’t know her name. He, like, forgot it, he thinks,” Zayn says. It’s fucking ridiculous, and Zayn can’t help but giggle, because _seriously, Harry?_ He snorts a bit when he laughs, but he turns his face into Niall’s shoulder—because it’s right there—and neither of them mention it.

“She’s emojis?” Niall asks.

Harry dejectedly turns his face to the side, so Zayn can see his pinched-sad face. At least someone else is having a shitty night as well. “I saved her in my phone as just a bunch of emojis. No name…”

Sure enough, Harry slides his phone to Zayn across the counter, and he and Niall in to look at the display. A heart-eyes emoji, party popper emoji, lipstick emoji, and the emoji of a man and woman holding hands.

“Jesus Christ,” Niall mumbles. Zayn looks up at him, and there’s a quirk to his mouth like he’s trying not to laugh. Zayn pokes at it until he breaks. Somewhere in the back of his brain, Zayn remembers that he’s supposed to be _getting over Niall,_ and poking his cheeks is, like, definitely going the wrong direction.

“That sucks, Harry. I’m sorry,” Niall says, clearing his throat and sliding Harry’s phone back over to him.

“No, you’re not.”

Zayn lets out another snort laugh, and Niall joins in with a, “You’re right. I’m not.”

 

****

 

Turns out, it took Niall three more drinks to get Zayn to dance. Though he’s just awkwardly bopping along in the corner, doing horribly outdated and cliche moves just to make Niall laugh. Harry pouts the whole time.

 

****

 

Niall’s the least drunk of the three of them, and somehow he manages to stop Harry from slamming back shots for long enough to drag them out of the club. They’re heading somewhere—Niall definitely said, but Zayn can’t remember where now—he has to lean heavily on Niall as Harry giggles and zig-zags down the sidewalk in front of them. If he’s not careful he’s going to brain himself on the curb.

“Harry, y’ should really, like, chill with the drinks.”

Harry makes a loud, annoyed noise, then turns around to face Zayn and Niall. Now he’s walking backwards, which is definitely worse. “Go hard or go home, Zayn.” Except he’s slurring and he drags out the ‘a’ in Zayn’s name until it’s, like, a million syllables. Too many.

“Stop yelling,” Zayn says.

“No one’s yelling, Zayno,” Niall says into Zayn’s hair.

 _“Haaaaaaa,”_ Harry says, turning around so he’s facing the way he’s walking again before immediately tripping over the lip between the park grass and the sidewalk and face planting into a bed of flowers.

Niall sighs and they slow to a stop, but he doesn’t go to help Harry up.

“Better than the road, like…” Zayn says. His words are heavy and feel like molasses coming off of his tongue.

“Guess so.” Niall chuckles, and Zayn feels it vibrate Niall’s chest against his ear. He jabs his fingers hard into Niall’s side so he can feel it again before Niall is smacking his arms away. “Hands to yourself! That tickles, mate.”

“I know,” Zayn says. “Meant to.”

They settle again, Niall holding Zayn’s wrist. It’s quiet but for the noise of the city and Harry drunkenly trying to drag himself to his feet. Niall’s like a heater, and Zayn tries to push in closer, shove the arm Niall isn’t holding underneath his jacket.

“How much do you have left?”

“Hmm?”

Niall taps at Zayn’s forearm, and if he wasn’t still drunk, Zayn would probably feel more upset at the question. As is, though, Zayn just sighs, because pulling up his sleeve means taking his arm off of Niall’s back and he’s not really fond of letting Niall go.

He does, though, and they look at the numbers _72:15:30:10._ While they look at it, it jumps down to _61:15:30:09,_ and Niall makes an _oooooh_ noise like it’s intriguing. Zayn’s soulmate probably just… tripped, or something. Like the butterfly effect or whatever. A gust of wind rattles his bones, and he shivers. Zayn quickly pulls down his sleeve again.

“Not, like, bad,” Zayn says. “How ‘bout you, then? I showed you mine, now you show me yours. Isn’t that, like, a thing?”

“Yeah, it’s a thing.” Niall’s shrug jostles Zayn a bit, but then he’s rolling up his sleeve.

_61:15:21:35._

“That’s, like, a few minutes apart,” Niall says. “I’ll know my soulmate for, like, five minutes, and then you’ll meet yours, at this rate.”

Zayn doesn’t say that their counters could jump again, that they could actually meet their respective soulmates months or even _years_ apart, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just lets the alcohol in his stomach and Niall’s body heat warm him up and nods into Niall’s chest. The alcohol is just making him tired, now, it seems.

“Could, like, double date.”

Niall laughs, even though Zayn’s own words feel like knives in his stomach.

“Could do, yeah.”

Harry whoops loudly, arms windmilling as he regains his balance, but he’s finally upright. Triumphant grin on his face, he points down the sidewalk.

“Home, James!”

“We’re going the other way, but yeah, we’re going,” Niall says, moving Harry’s arm so he’s pointing the right way before he goes marching away. “Would be there a few minutes sooner if someone didn’t stop to smell the flowers.”

Harry cackles but doesn’t turn around.

“See, Zayn? We’re good. We’re, like, totally great,” Niall says, quiet enough so that Harry definitely can’t hear him. “Our soulmates are on their way. Like, Amazon 61-day shipping.”

Zayn snorts. “Yeah, totally great.” He tries to come off as genuine and not sarcastic, but his brain still feels fuzzy so it just sounds mopey.

“We’ll be good, Zayn,” Niall says again.

“We will be,” Zayn replies. Maybe one day it won’t be a lie.

Today, though, Niall’s arm is warm around Zayn’s shoulders and they’re pretty much sharing Niall’s jacket with how close Zayn has tucked himself in. Niall’s laugh feels pop-fizzy in his ears and makes Zayn feel like he’s _won_ —though he’s not sure what exactly he’s winning. Zayn can faintly feel Niall’s heartbeat where his hand is resting on his chest, and he wishes that this was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks also to ppl who left/leave nice comments/messages. You're all so so sweet.


	5. 13 days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Lex, Janelle, and Zane for giving this a look over. Shoutout to the people who got into an actual fist fight outside of my Costco last week, and also shoutout to my stepbrother, who takes cloth napkins from every restaurant we eat at together, for the inspo.
> 
> Also look at me, not posting after 2am my time. How OOC.

Zayn really just wants to get the fuck out of Costco. It’s already not ideal that he’s here in the first place, because it’s always so crowded and everybody cuts the lines, but the apple pie is the cheapest for the size and his mom put him on her account, so he might as well take advantage of it.

He walks straight into the side of a shopping cart, and he only doesn’t drop his pie because he’s learned to keep a death grip on anything he’s holding when he walks through this hell-store.

“How do we always run into each other like this?”

Zayn laughs, though his stomach hurts a bit, and looks up to where Niall is smiling apologetically down at him. It’s weird, how they can hang out at least once a week yet still every time Zayn sees him, he’s smacked in the face with how much he _likes_ him. It’s inconvenient, especially when he’s trying very hard not to follow Niall around with hearts practically jumping out of his eyes.

Louis won’t stop bugging him about it, and it’s insufferable, really. Zayn needs to tone it down if only to get him off of his back.

“I don’t know, bro,” Zayn says. “But, like, I’d rather not _literally_ run into each other.”

“Well, you ran into my cart, not me,” Niall says. “Sorry, by the way.”

Zayn shrugs him off, and then has to press against Niall’s cart again to let some people shove their way by him. He hugs the pie closer to his chest. Like _fuck_ he’s walking all the way to the back of the warehouse to get another one.

“Fuckin’ madhouse in here,” Niall mutters, shaking his head. “Like, you’d think the world was gonna end.”

“Why would _anyone_ wanna be in here when the world starts to end?”

More people knock into them, and then somehow they’re in one of the checkout lines. Or, Zayn thinks they are. It’s entirely possible they’re just standing stationary in the middle of Costco like two assholes.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Niall jerks his chin towards the pie in Zayn’s hands. He’s moved so his forearms are leaning on the shopping cart, and it shouldn’t be attractive. Zayn still has to wrench his gaze away from him. _God,_ he really needs to get out more, if Zayn’s thinking about how nice Niall looks pushing a fucking shopping cart.

“Oh. Uh, the occasion…” Zayn looks down at his pie. “It’s, uh. This pie is five dollars. And I like apple pie.”

Niall raises his eyebrows at him and Zayn’s face burns. This looks so pathetic on his part. He should have come up with a lie.

“We could, uh, share if it you like?” Zayn offers. He sounds too eager, and he wants to take it back until Niall’s face lights up.

“Bro! You’re, like, the best ever,” Niall says. “Of course I’d love some pie. I’m going to get my hair cut after this and then we could chill, maybe order some takeout if you’re up for it.”

If anyone else was asking, Zayn has no doubt he would make an excuse, go home and eat the pie on his own. But one look at Niall’s smiley face, as people are honest-to-God getting into a fist fight about who was first in line not ten feet away from them, and Zayn’s nodding.

“Of course I’m up for it.”

 

****

 

“Might chop off a bunch.”

Zayn looks over at Niall, where his fingers are tapping on the steering wheel almost nervously. Costco was close enough that Zayn walked there, but Niall drove. The pie, as well as Niall’s odd purchase of a new shower head, a soccer ball, and a jumbo container of salsa, are in the back seats. When Zayn put the seatbelt on around his pie, Niall had laughed a bit but didn’t make fun of him for it, which was very nice of him.

“Could do,” Zayn says. “Sometimes it’s good to cut a bunch of your hair off. It’s, like, you feel like you’re making a big change, turning a new leaf or whatever.”

Niall nods, turns into the parking lot for a small strip of stores. “Louis and El and the work lads say I should leave out the blonde.”

And that makes Zayn pause. “Well, I mean…” Zayn trails off. It’s hard to explain the way Niall’s words felt like they dropped lead into his stomach. “It suits you, though. Like you could always do a less intense version, like, more of a dirty blonde or whatever they call it. It just— I dunno. You look _really_ good blonde.”

It’s so tempting to just open the car door and bolt, then. There’s a bookstore next to the barbershop and Zayn could lose Niall pretty quickly. Maybe if Zayn’s lucky, a shelf will fall on top of him and then he’ll never go on a spiel about Niall’s hair ever again.

“Thanks, Zayn,” Niall says, reaching over to pat his shoulder. It doesn’t linger, Zayn tells himself. It’s just a friendly pat.

“Okay, um.” Zayn clears his throat and undoes his seatbelt. “If it’s okay, I’m gonna go look at books for a while. Like, text me when you’re done?”

Zayn’s already halfway out of the SUV when Niall nods, and before he can say anything Zayn shuts the door and speed-walks towards the bookstore.

 

****

 

Somehow, Zayn doesn’t die from embarrassment in the time it takes him to get to the door, and the lady at the register gives him a warm smile and nod when he steps into the store. It’s bigger than it looks from the outside. The aisles are narrow and packed tall with books, some so new the spines haven’t even been cracked and some so well-loved the writing is faded. The lady helpfully informs him, after Zayn’s been wandering wide-eyed for a half hour, that there’s also an upstairs with romance novels and a downstairs with science-fiction and comic books.

That’s how Zayn finds himself precariously making his way down a way-too-steep set of stairs into a dimmer room that feels like a completely different universe. The area is organized with cue cards taped to the shelves: sci-fi, fantasy, non-fiction, comic books, manga. In a daze, Zayn walks up to the first aisle and trails his fingers over the first few books, can’t help himself from pulling out every single one that looks interesting—which is admittedly way too many. More than Zayn can afford to buy, at least.

Which is where Niall finds him an hour later, sitting on the floor surrounded by stacks of books.

“Has anyone told you that you’re, like, incredibly bad at texting?”

The voice startles Zayn and almost makes him drop the book in his hand. He looks up at Niall, and—

“You kept the blonde?”

Niall shrugs, before plopping down cross-legged next to him. Sure enough, his hair is a soft blonde now, like honey. Zayn wants to run his fingers through it.

“Figured you’re right about it. Anyway, what’s with all the books? Gonna start your own library?”

“It looks great! And… Um.” Zayn shakes himself out of it, looks down at the piles around him, most of them splayed out so he can see the covers. “I’m trying to narrow them down. I got a bit carried away; sorry I didn’t notice your text.”

“No worries. Need help?” Niall leans in, rests his elbows on his knees. “Got, like, a ‘yes’ pile?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Zayn turns and pats his hand on a small stack. It’s just _The Martian, Dune, The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes,_ and one of Jamie Oliver’s cookbooks. “This one.”

Niall hums and picks up the cookbook. “You’re into Jamie Oliver?”

Really, Zayn could stand to be less obvious about how he’s definitely not over Niall. “Uh, no. You are, though, so. Thought I’d…” Zayn waves his hand and looks back to his stack of maybes. “Anyways. Um. _American Gods_ looks good, right?”

Niall looks at him, his smile soft as his fingers trace lightly over the cover. He doesn’t mention how Zayn quickly diverts the topic, doesn’t mention how red he always gets around Niall. Doesn’t mention that it’s _so fucking obvious_ that Zayn’s halfway in love with him.

Niall’s a good friend like that.

 

****

 

Somehow they manage to narrow it down to six books, not including the cookbook, and then they end up back at Zayn’s.

“Harry’s gone out already, drinking with his, like, weird sort-of-famous-but-not-really friends. Don’t think Louis is home, either. But, like, what else is new, y’know?”

Niall laughs. “Is he, like, ever apart from El?”

“Only when they both have to work, I think,” Zayn says. He carefully slides his books into the shelf in his room and listens to Niall rummaging around in the kitchen like he lives there.

“Ah, honeymooners.”

“Think the honeymoon ship sailed a month ago.”

“They went for a second go-round, then.”

When Zayn’s done and makes his way back out into the main area, Niall has all of their takeout menus spread over the counter. He’s looking over them very seriously, like they’re job applications or something.

“This is the most serious I’ve ever seen you,” Zayn says, plopping down on one of the shabby barstools.

Niall flips him off without looking up, though Zayn can see the edges of his mouth twitch. Zayn just shrugs, pleased with himself, and unlocks his phone.

“If you need any input, I could go for pizza.” Niall grunts at him.

By the time Zayn’s responded to a handful of emails and sent the obligatory _everything is okay, i’m eating right, love you_ text to his mom, Niall’s narrowed it down to two. One of them is Zayn’s favourite pizza place, and he gives Niall his best begging look. They could definitely just order from two places, but like. Zayn just really wants Niall to pick pizza.

“Okay, you win,” Niall says, shoving the menu under Zayn’s nose.

Zayn does a little cheer and Niall rolls his eyes.

“You busy tomorrow?”

“Um, I have work in the afternoon, but all morning I’m free.”

Niall grins at him. “Great, so we can chill tonight. Got any booze?”

They end up stealing a bottle of rosé that Zayn assumes Harry had bought and shoved into the very back corner of one of the highest kitchen cupboards. Niall has to kneel on the counter to reach it, and when he finds it he turns to Zayn with an eyebrow waggle and a, “This looks like a fun time.”

Zayn starts a bit at the implication of that, but hides it by digging around for a corkscrew.

“None of your wine glasses are, like, the _same_ wine glasses. They don’t match,” Niall says, holding the glass up to the light, then up to Zayn’s. He closes one eye like he’s _really_ inspecting them, though Niall’s has a curly pattern frosted on it and Zayn’s has little black polka-dots on the base of it.

“That’s because we— well not _me,_ but uh Louis and Liam, like… take them.”

Niall guffaws, looking at Zayn, then at the glass then back to Zayn again. _“What?_ What do you mean?”

“Lou had this thing where every time we went out and they served wine, he’d buy like the cheapest one and then take the glass home,” Zayn says. It sounds a lot worse than it is, really. Like, he figures the Cheesecake Factory will be fine. “And he roped Liam in for a while, until he went and got a fancy corporate job. Lou only stopped once he met Eleanor, I think.”

“Hope so. El wouldn’t be impressed.”

Zayn laughs. “Too late to change him. Though, we definitely have more than we need, now. Only Harry has enough friends that we’d need this many, and he doesn’t even invite them over, so.”

“Shame,” Niall sighs, picking up the rosé bottle again. “This is very pink. Harry probably bathes in this. With petals, or something weird. That’d be a waste, ‘cause this is very good.”

“Aw, gross,” Zayn shoves at him, nose scrunching when the wine sloshes and almost spills out of the glass. “Don’t tell me that! We’re _drinking_ it.”

“It’s ours now! Like, you snooze, you lose. It’s in the communal cupboard. If he wanted it all to himself he should have kept it in his room. House rules.” Niall laughs, pours himself some more wine.

Zayn can’t help but roll his eyes. “House rules? You don’t even live in the house.” Niall looks over at him, eyebrows raised and eyes bright, and Zayn breaks into a grin. “You’re right, though. Okay, gimme some more.”

They get a pizza each: Niall gets pepperoni and salami and a bunch of other toppings that Zayn loses track of, and Zayn gets one that’s half Mediterranean and half cheese.

“The toppings never taste good the day after,” Zayn explains when Niall gives him a confused look, after they’re done and start digging into the apple pie. “Like, they go all limp and gross so I’d rather just get like. Plain cheese.”

Niall giggles at him. “You look so cute. Like, you’re all serious or whatever but you’re drunk so it’s just cute.”

“Don’t call me cute,” Zayn grumbles. Niall’s hogging the wine, or something, if he’s calling Zayn cute.

“Oh, _sorry,”_ Niall rolls his eyes, leans in to poke at his cheek. “You’re very manly. Rugged and stubbly.”

Zayn sputters, shoves Niall’s hands away until they’re weakly fighting, half-hearted slaps to the shoulders and jabs to the side. The bottle topples over onto the floor, and Zayn panics for a second until he realizes it’s empty, and, oh, whoops. Harry’s going to whine at him for days.

“Not what I meant, stupid,” Zayn says, after they’ve settled back into their corners of the couch. He pokes at Niall’s forearm with his foot, knows the counter there still has days to go, just like Zayn’s does.

Realization makes Niall’s eyes go wide, and he makes an _oops_ face and scratches his chin with an awkward laugh. “Oh, ha, right. Is that, like… still a thing? For you?”

Judging by Niall’s face, Zayn thinks it’s safe to say that it isn’t a thing for Niall anymore. “Nah, water under the bridge,” he says. He tries to shrug it off, all casual and smooth-like, but he just feels jerky. Hopefully Niall’s too drunk to pick up on it.

Before Zayn has to consider the possibility of Niall picking up on his lie, the front door is shoved open, followed by the banging and cursing that always accompanies Louis whenever he comes home.

“Fucking broken-ass door, what the _fuuuuuuck.”_

“We know,” Zayn calls out, head tipping back onto the arm of the couch. “We’ve been through this, like, a bazillion times. You can try to fix it if it’s bugging you that much.”

“Work? Doesn’t sound like me,” Louis says.

“How was practice? All the kids learn how to, like, do the butterfly, or something?”

Louis rounds the corner, then trips over what Zayn assumes is nothing before leaning back against the wall. “Swim practice ended hours ago, Zayn. It’s almost 3am. I went to see El, who is lovely, by the way. And the kids are like nine, so _no,_ they aren’t doing the butterfly.”

“I can do the butterfly!” Niall says, and he’s already laughing when he puts his hands up in the air, hooked at the thumbs, fluttering his fingers in an attempt to imitate a butterfly. He tries to look dramatic but his face is too red and he’s smiling too hard to really pull it off.

Zayn giggles and looks up at Louis, who looks unimpressed. “We watched _Napoleon Dynamite.”_

“Oh, did you?” Louis says, deadpan. “I couldn’t tell.”

Niall starts laughing so intensely that he falls over the side of the couch, grabbing at Zayn’s calf in a pathetic, drunken attempt to balance himself on his way down. His palm is warm around his bare knee, and Zayn’s mind wanders to what it would be like to hold Niall’s hand.

Ah, rosé. What a great scapegoat.

“Whatever!” Louis pushes himself off of the wall, gives them a little salute before heading off towards his room. “I’m in love and I’m drunk and my kids can all tread water, so I’m going to sleep.”

 _Same,_ Zayn thinks. Or, well, two out of three, which isn’t bad. Mostly same. Zayn’s basking in the feeling that’s spreading through his chest, fuzzy and warm and pink, until he looks down at Niall, where he’s tracing his soulmate counter with his ring finger.

“Lucky,” Niall mumbles. When he notices Zayn watching him, he gives him a wry smile. “Okay. Well, I can’t drive.”

“Can take my bed, if you want. I’ll have the couch.”

Niall makes an offended noise, and hauls himself to his feet. It’s an ordeal that takes quite a few seconds longer than it should. “Don’t be stupid. Your bed, so you can sleep in it. I’ll take the couch.”

Zayn’s too tired to argue, though he knows he wouldn’t try much harder even if he was sober, because, like, he loves his bed.

“‘Right,” Zayn says. The room is gone quiet, and Niall is looking at him like he’s perhaps not as drunk as Zayn thought Niall was. “G’night, bro. Wake me when you get up.”

He leans in to give Niall a hug, then plants a sloppy kiss onto his cheek that almost catches his lips. Zayn _wants_ to catch his lips. It’d be so easy to just shift over a bit and blame it on the wine. Niall exhales a bit shakily, Zayn’s mouth still dangerously, temptingly close, but then he looks down, to where Zayn’s arm is pressed in between their chests. _13:16:42:50._

They’re both _so close._ Too close to royally fuck everything up like Zayn is so close to doing, and that makes Zayn pull back quickly—which sends his brain spinning and knocking around behind his eyes. _God,_ he didn’t realize he was this bad of a lightweight.

Zayn, at a loss, starts walking backwards towards his room, throws in a little moonwalk because maybe Niall will write it off as Zayn being smashed. Which is pretty much right, because he’s definitely drunk, but there’s nothing wrong with selling it.

Niall, meanwhile, is looking at him seriously, contemplating. But as the seconds pass it looks more and more like he’s holding back a smile, so Zayn figures he’s in the clear.

“More blankets are in the hallway closet if you need them. Sleep tight.” Then, for some reason, he throws in some dorky finger guns before turning and speed walking into his room.

Zayn crashes on his bed, heart pounding in his ears and panic rising in his chest. It’s a long time before it all settles, and even longer before he manages to fall asleep.

 

****

 

It’s no surprise when Zayn wakes up the next morning with a bit of a headache. Not like he drank that much, but he definitely didn’t drink any water before he went to sleep. He flips over, though, and sees a glass of water and a container of Advil on his nightstand that he knows he didn’t put there the night before.

In the kitchen, Niall’s making omelettes. He has music playing from his phone, something pop that Zayn doesn’t recognize, and he’s bopping his head along as he chops up a pepper. Zayn doesn’t remember even having peppers in the fridge.

Before Zayn can feel creepy—like he’s spying on Niall trying to do something nice for Zayn, in Zayn’s own house—he clears his throat. “Morning.”

Niall grins, way too bright for the hour. “Morning Zayno! You like omelettes, yeah? You’ll have to, like, tell me the filler you like.”

Zayn hums, settling down onto a barstool. He tugs the blanket he’s holding more snugly around his shoulders. “Didn’t have to do that, bro. Told you to wake me up, too.”

Niall shrugs, moves over to the coffee maker and jabs at the buttons. “Didn’t wanna be the one to wake you up. I’ve heard all the horror stories, y’know. And this is just, like, a _thank you for letting me sleep on your couch_ omelette, so consider us even.”

“I’m not that bad,” Zayn mumbles. He’s not going to say no to breakfast, though.

“Not what Louis says.” Niall claps his hands together and picks up the bowl Zayn assumes he mixed the eggs and whatever in. “Okay, come show me what you like.”

Zayn hops off of the barstool and shuffles over to the stove. “What’s in there now?”

Niall crinkles his nose up at him. “Not much. Didn’t know what you liked and I don’t like pepper, so it’s just, like, eggs, water, and some salt right now. Just tell me what you like in them so I can chop or cut up whatever.”

It’s really hard not to poke at where Niall’s cheeks have gone red. Instead, Zayn just looks away, starts pulling spices down off of the rack. “No mushrooms for me. I know we have them, because Harry likes them but, like, no.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Niall laughs.

Somehow, while Zayn blearily makes himself a cup of coffee, Niall manages to make a bunch of omelettes and puts out the veggies and cheese in little bowls on the counter.

“So fancy.”

Niall looks at him with an eyebrow raised. “Fancy? Just stuff in bowls, bro. What do you usually have for breakfast?”

Zayn knows Niall isn’t going to be impressed even before he says, “Usually I just make some coffee and go.”

Sure enough, Niall goes all wide eyed before smacking Zayn in the shoulder with a tea towel. “You need breakfast, Zayn! It’s like the most important meal; everyone says so.”

Zayn shrugs. “I like sleeping more, and I’m not that hungry in the mornings anyways. Guess you’ll just have to make me breakfast every day if you want me to eat it so badly.”

“Ha, like, come over here every morning? Sometimes you start work earlier than I do, mate. Don’t have that kind of time. Also, I don’t believe you’re not hungry. Like, you gotta eat.” Niall plops an omelette onto a plate and slides it over to Zayn.

“You’d have to live with me, then, to save the commute. Maybe if the soulmate thing doesn’t work out.”

“Could do that as friends, Zayn.”

Zayn stops with his hand in the bowl of shredded cheese. Blush is spreading all down his neck, he can _feel_ it. Why can’t he keep his mouth shut?

“Sorry, I mean, I know—”

“No, wait, calm down,” Niall says, laying his palms flat on the counter. He looks calm, thankfully. Not like Zayn’s finally scared him away. “I like that, yeah? Maybe if Lou and Eleanor move out together or something, we can get a place together. I’m on the bottom floor, now, and the guy above me stomps, I swear.”

Zayn looks at Niall, who seems earnest. As he usually is. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

Niall grins at him, before grabbing his own plate and dumping most of the red pepper he chopped up onto his omelette. “It’s a deal then.”

They eat their breakfast without much talking, only speaking to ask the other to pass over a bowl or to change the song. It’s nice. Domestic, which has Zayn feeling both disappointed that he won’t have this every day and happy that he got to have it at all. He fixes himself up a second omelette and Niall looks so smug that Zayn shoves him off of his stool.

“Okay, so,” Niall says once they’re done, dishes stacked up by the sink. “We have to, like, actually plan to hang out. No more of this where we only chill after we randomly bump into each other or if we’re both hanging out with Lou and Harry. When are you free?”

“Uh, next Saturday I think is the next day I’m free. Picked up extra shifts so I’m, like, jammed.” Zayn shrugs like he isn’t dreading the next two and a half weeks.

“Ah, bro, we really have to chill, then. Can pick you up here then go to coffee?”

 _Sounds like a date._ “Sounds good.”

Then, Louis’ bedroom door opens and he walks out, looking tired and sludgy. “I’m hungover and I smell eggs. Niall, you’re an angel.”

Turning so Zayn can send Louis his most offended look, Zayn scoffs. “Why’d you think Niall made this? I know how to make omelettes.”

“Because you’re an asshole before noon. Or, like, you’re always an asshole, but especially in the mornings.”

Niall tuts, twists up the towel he used earlier so he can hit Louis with it. It makes a loud snapping noise and Louis yelps. “Do you want some or not?” Niall asks, laugh on the edge of his voice. “Be nice.”

Louis glares at Zayn, like he asked Niall to hit Louis on his behalf. “He doesn’t deserve it, but fine. For the food, fine.”

 

****

 

Because the world clearly doesn’t want Zayn to be happy, the Saturday him and Niall go to the coffee shop is also the Saturday that brings a massive rain storm.

“See? Should just let the universe decide when we hang out,” Zayn says when Niall picks him up. “This is, like, a sign.”

“Is not! Rain is good. I even said I’d drive us when you said you didn’t want to walk. Though it’s, like, a ten minute walk away, and there’s no way you don’t have an umbrella.” Niall laughs when Zayn pouts at him. He cranks up the heat, though, and doesn’t complain when Zayn starts flipping through the radio, so he tries not to whine about the rainwater trickling down his neck.

Unsurprisingly, the coffee shop they pull up to is packed. They rush in, and the line goes all the way back to the doors.

“Jesus,” Niall says. “How about, like, you tell me what you’re in the mood for, and I’ll order while you try to get us a table.”

By some minor miracle, Zayn’s wandering by a booth just as a couple are getting up to leave, and he manages to snag it. Niall actually _whoops,_ pumping his fist from where he’s still standing in the middle of the line. Zayn flashes him a thumbs up.

“God, okay, I hope this is how you like— _Zayn.”_

Zayn looks up to where Niall’s sat down in front of him. The two mugs are still in his hands, and he looks like he’s about to start laughing. “Huh? What’s it?”

“Do you, like, always do that? At coffee shops, too?”

He looks down at the table, where he’s poured out a bunch of sugar and made little squiggles out of them. “Yeah, guess so.”

Niall just grins at him, shakes his head before he slides over one of the mugs. “There you go. Gotta warm yourself back up.”

It’s really nice, the chatter of the shop and the rain hitting the window. Niall’s the nicest, though, asking him how his family is doing and telling stories about what his buddy did last night— _“Oh my god, Zayn, you won’t believe this. And you think Harry’s wild!”_

They’re in the middle of talking about their favourite types of dogs when Niall pouts down at his mug. “That went fast, Lordy. I’m gonna get a refill. Did you want anything?”

Zayn shakes his head, watches as Niall gets back in line, and tries not to think about how much this _feels_ like a date. Instead of dwelling on that, he looks back outside. There are a lot of dogs with raincoats, and Zayn feels like he’s _melting._ Maybe he can convince Niall that they both need to move out immediately, and then Zayn can get his own dog with its own raincoat. Maybe even matching ones, just to make Niall laugh.

He’s just about to pour out some more sugar and try to make a picture of a dog with it when there’s a yell. He looks up to see a tall, muscular guy near his table with presumably hot coffee all down his chest. _Niall’s_ coffee, by the looks of it: Niall is standing in front of him with his mug in his hand, eyes wide and shocked.

“Shit, oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

Mr. Built-like-a-wall shrugs, even though he’s trying to quickly un-stick his shirt from his skin and he’s still grimacing. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

But Niall is shaking his head, hastily yanking napkins out of the dispenser on their table and shoving it into the guy’s chest. Zayn helps pull them out once Niall starts ripping them in his haste, holds them out for Niall to take though Niall doesn’t spare him a glance. Niall seems to realize that he’s pretty much just feeling the guy up, thinks better of it and pushes the napkin wads into the guy’s hands instead.

“No, no. I ruined your shirt and that probably burns like hell. Let me buy you a coffee or something to make it up to you. Or a scone or something, if you’re not in the mood for more hot things.”

The guy chuckles, smiling down at Niall. “Will it make you feel better?”

“Yes, it will.”

“I’m Niall, by the way. Niall Breslin.” The man grins at him and sticks out a hand for Niall to shake, looking too fond for two people who just met in an admittedly quite awkward situation. Zayn’s stomach lurches a bit, though he’s not sure why.

“Me too! I mean, Niall _Horan,_ but, uh, Niall,” Zayn’s Niall says, laughing lightly. His face is flushed and bright, whether from cold or embarrassment or both it’s hard for Zayn to tell. He knows exactly why his stomach drops a bit, now.

“Call me Bressie, then,” the bigger Niall says. “And hot chocolate is fine, if you insist.”

Niall laughs again, definitely flustered and nervous in a way Zayn’s not used to seeing him, nose scrunching a bit, before heading back into the line. Zayn’s frozen with his handful of napkins hovering a few inches above the table. He shakes his head and sets them down, wraps his fingers around his mug in an attempt to distract himself from the way everything feels colder. What’s _wrong_ with him?

“I’ll just sit here with you, then, if that’s okay? Niall insisted since he’s convinced he’s ruined my day.”

Zayn looks up again, and Bressie waits until Zayn’s nodded before sitting down across from him. He looks nice enough, with kind eyes and a warm smile. It almost makes Zayn forget that this man could probably snap him in half if he wanted to. Maybe that’s why Niall was so nervous around him.

Bressie lets Zayn continue playing with the sugar on the table, allowing Zayn to basically ignore him. And Niall makes friends all the time, invites people over to dance or asks them which brand of spaghetti they think is the best. But something about this makes Zayn’s stomach churn. It feels like everything has changed, though the image he’s looking at is the same as it always was.

Then, he notices the counter on Bressie’s forearm. His shirtsleeve is pushed up all the way, and it’s all zeros down the line. Trying not to look worried or panicked, Zayn glances at his own arm out of the corner of his eye. Pulling his sleeve up just a bit so he can see the seconds, he sees _45_ and exhales heavily. Not that, then.

“Got you a hot chocolate. Whipped cream and all,” Niall says, plopping down next to Zayn heavily before extending the drink to Bressie. “Think the barista was laughing at me.”

“Probably saw your spill,” Bressie laughs, reaching to pat at Niall’s hand before grabbing the mug. “Pity laughter, I think.”

And they’re both laughing. Zayn should be laughing along, probably, but he pushes that thought to the back of his mind. Zayn can’t find it in himself to care when Niall’s pulling off his jacket and he just has to look over. Niall pushes up his sleeves much like Bressie’s are, and they’re both still chatting— _blushing,_ Zayn notes almost bitterly—so Niall doesn’t look down. And he should, because the numbers on Niall’s forearm are all at fucking _zero._

Niall’s counter ran out.

Zayn doesn’t want to believe it, but Niall laughs _again_ at something Bressie said, hunching over with how hard he’s doing so. He looks so bright, so _happy,_ and Zayn hates himself for feeling so crushed when he should be pointing it out, should be tapping Niall’s arm and telling Niall how happy Zayn is for him. _Lying_ about how happy Zayn is for him, because God knows he can’t bring himself to genuinely be excited about this yet.

He wishes he could zap himself back in time, even to just a minute ago when this wasn’t fucking happening.

“I should go,” Zayn finds himself saying. His ears are ringing, now, and his head is pounding, but it’s nothing to the pain that flashes through his chest when Niall looks up at him, with his wide eyes and the fucking blonde hair that he kept because Zayn said it suited him. _God,_ he really needs to leave.

“What?” Niall furrows his eyebrows, tugging lightly at Zayn’s sleeve. “But it’s still pouring, Zayno. If you wanna wait a few minutes I can drive you back home.”

Zayn shakes his head back, because he isn’t Niall’s at the end of the day, and he can’t bring himself to really deal with this yet. Tears prickle dangerously behind his eyes, but Zayn refuses to cry in a shitty coffee house in front of the best friend he’s in love with and that best friend’s newfound fucking _soulmate._

“I can’t, Niall,” Zayn says. It comes out choked and horrible sounding. “I have to—”

“You didn’t have plans, I thought. Is something wrong?” Niall asks, almost desperate now. “You told me you had the day off. Why don’t you stay?”

A laugh bursts out of his throat, somewhere between a scoff and a sob. “Niall, _please.”_

Niall’s eyebrows smooth back out, settle into something more sad than confused, and this is worse, Zayn thinks. Seeing Niall being upset about him leaving while Bressie sits watching them with a careful, puzzled expression, Seeing how Bressie and Niall angle towards each other unconsciously—it’s like salt in the wound. Niall hasn’t noticed his counter yet, even after watching Zayn freak out like some fucking weirdo. He probably thinks there’s something really wrong, when really Niall should be, like, throwing a party or something. Fucking hell.

“Okay,” Niall says softly. Too softly; it makes Zayn’s throat sting like he’s eaten something sour. “Call me later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. He won’t, and he thinks Niall knows it. He’s too nice to push Zayn further about it, and it just makes Zayn love him worse. He lets go of Zayn’s sleeve though, and then Zayn weaves his way out of the coffee shop back out into the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The coffee shop scene is the first part of this fic I actually wrote, so I'm happy it's finally out in the world.


	6. 0 days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long! I have good excuses but I won't bore you with them lol. Thank you to Lex and Pia for looking this over for me. I really, really appreciate it. <3

It’s definitely fine that Niall doesn’t follow Zayn out. Like, part of Zayn wants him to run out after him like they’re in some scene in a romantic comedy that hopefully ends with kissing in the rain. But on the other hand, Zayn’s pretty sure he’d break apart if he had to explain to Niall why he has to go.

So, Zayn leaves.

And Niall _definitely_ lied when he said the walk to the coffee shop was only ten minutes. A ten minute _sprint,_ maybe, but it’s storming like mad and Zayn’s not much of an athlete on a clear day. It’s probably better that Zayn walks in the rain for a while, anyways. You don’t need to wipe your eyes if your face is already soaked.

It’s really fitting, Zayn thinks, that it’s raining today. He knew it was a bad sign. He should have offered to Niall that they stay home instead and watch movies. But he didn’t, because that’s not what he was meant to do, or whatever. _It wouldn’t have changed anything,_ Zayn reminds himself. _Niall and Bressie would have found each other no matter what._

And that isn’t great to think about either.

Images of Niall are still flashing through Zayn’s head: Niall playing his guitar at that first open mic night where they met; Niall showing him that graffiti wall behind the club; Niall telling Zayn they would never work out in the darkness of Zayn’s truck; Niall’s breath coming out shaky against Zayn’s neck, Zayn’s lips too close to Niall’s on Niall’s cheek. Then Niall laughing at Bressie for no real reason, the way he blushed and looked like he was glowing.

The zeros all down his forearm.

Zayn can’t stop Niall from running through his head, so he looks down and lets his tears slide down his nose without trying to stop them. More than anything, he hates himself for getting in so deep, for letting himself get caught up in Niall when he knew very fucking well that it would never work out.

Which is how he ends up bumping into so many people on the narrow sidewalks. He keeps his head down, because he knows his eyes are all red and the storm can’t be accountable for that. Zayn looks up slightly to apologize every time he walks into someone, hitting shoulders or knocking feet.

He even walks full-on into this one girl, but all Zayn can think about is getting home as fast as possible, so his mumbled apology isn’t as sincere as it maybe should be, considering they both get knocked off balance. He barely gets a look at her face—which is startled, for the record, and understandably so—before he’s quickly scooting around her.

Zayn knows he’s being a bit overdramatic, but he doesn’t know how to stop the way his thoughts are reeling. Or how it feels like shattered pieces of his heart are stabbing into his lungs. His head doesn’t clear once he finally gets home, after he rips off his jacket and boots and stands trying to breathe properly in his entranceway.

There are pictures of them together all over the apartment, is the thing—not many, but they’re spread out enough so that Zayn can’t really avoid seeing them. One of Niall and Harry. Another of Niall and Louis. Then one of Niall and Zayn, and another, and another. Some that he hadn’t even known Harry took until they were hung on the wall. Facing them away or shoving the frames into a drawer feels like too much closure that Zayn isn’t ready for.

Throwing the pictures away isn’t an option, either. Obviously. Not only because Harry would be mad at him for ages.

Neither Louis or Harry are home; Louis is with Eleanor, and Harry left to visit his family for a few days the other night. Zayn’s footsteps are too loud in their shitty, too-cold apartment, and it makes Zayn’s throat close up. He wants to call Louis, tell him to come home and watch cartoons with him, _please,_ but it’s not really an option since he’s meeting El’s parents. Liam’s definitely working, even though it’s a Saturday, and Zayn feels like he’s truly alone for the first time in a long time.

Zayn flops down face first onto his bed with a sigh. It’s uncomfortable, a spring poking into his stomach, but it’s like all the energy has been zapped out of him.

“Pull it together,” Zayn mumbles to himself. His voice buzzes in his ears. “C’mon.”

It takes what feels like all of his effort to roll back over onto his back. He stares at the popcorn ceiling while his brain tips wildly back and forth between how much he _hates_ the concept of soulmates and how much he wishes he was Niall’s after all, by some fluke. Zayn’s having difficulty finding middle ground, or any other feelings to focus on besides overwhelmed, angry, and heartbroken.

His eyes start burning again, and he flings his arm over them. Harry told him about this breathing technique for calming down one time, but fuck if he remembers it now.

After a few seconds, his eyes stop stinging, no tears leaking out for the time being. Zayn pulls his arm away and blinks up at the counter on his forearm. _00:00:25:45,_ it reads.

“Fuck off,” Zayn mumbles at it. “Like hell I’m leaving the house anytime soon. Liar.”

He keeps staring at it, though. It stays there, 25 minutes and 45 seconds in dull, slate grey, and Zayn blinks a few times. That can’t be right. The clocks don’t just _stop,_ no matter what happens. The numbers change all the time, but they aren’t supposed to stay the same for more than a second.

Stupidly, Zayn smacks his arm, thinking maybe it’ll glitch like a VCR and suddenly start counting down again. The numbers don’t change, and Zayn stares at them until they darken, and darken, and then the number is staring back at him in black. And that’s only supposed to happen when your clock runs out. But— no. It hasn’t run out. 

His eyes have to be fucking with him, surely. There’s no way he broke his counter. But he scrubs at his skin with his palm, rubs his eyes, takes a picture with his phone and turns the brightness up all the way, because there’s _no way_ this is happening to him, and panic starts to swell in his chest.

The only person he tells that he’s leaving is his boss, and that’s only because it means calling in sick for four shifts. He mumbles something about pneumonia and going to see his mom and _sorry, I’m so sorry._ The lies make his teeth ache but he can’t bring himself to say that his soulmate clock is broken, much less that it’s his _heart_ that’s fucking broken as well.

 

****

 

Zayn looks it up when he’s stopped at a 24-hour convenience store for coffee that tastes faintly like he imagines gasoline would.

It’s _“very uncommon, but not unheard of”_ for soulmate clocks to stop before they reach zero, apparently. People say it’s because something happened that nothing could have predicted, or you did something that negated you being their soulmate before you met, or vice versa, but it’s all just speculation. It’s just some thread on Yahoo Answers, not actual scientists or evolutionists or whoever studies the soulmate clocks.

There are theories on how to fix it again, but it’s just bullshit that makes him more angry.

Instead of smashing his phone under his boot like he _really_ wants to, Zayn tucks it back into his pocket. He pays for his shitty coffee and tries in vain not to think about anything at all.

 

****

 

It’s a good thing that Zayn remembered his house keys, because when he finally pulls up it’s nearing one in the morning. No one is awake; it’s clear from how there are no lights on inside that he can see. Something inside Zayn melts at the same time that his eyes start watering again.

He walks in as quietly as he can and flops down on the couch, because he’s exhausted and doesn’t want to walk up the stairs, and falls asleep with his nose pressed into the cushion.

 

****

 

“Zayn?”

He blinks his eyes open, and they feel heavy and achy in that way they get after you cry right before you fall asleep. The light is shining bright through the curtains, and maybe Zayn should have just sucked it up and went up to his room. There are blackout curtains there. Something is sizzling in the kitchen, though, and it smells delicious, and that’s enough to make Zayn pull himself up until he’s sitting.

“Made you breakfast, love.”

Zayn can only manage a grunt. His throat feels all puffy and clogged, and it’s like there’s a dead weight sitting on his shoulders. Too quickly, he’s already remembering the reasons why he’s here in the first place, and his feet drag across the carpet.

“Thanks.”

His mom’s eyebrows raise pointedly. “You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. Juice?” She doesn’t wait for a response, just keeps adding things into the frying pan, pausing only to pour a glass of apple juice and put it down in front of Zayn, kissing the top of his head. Sometimes he forgets how well she knows him. Guiltily, he makes a note to himself to visit more often. Phone calls aren’t enough.

“You’re telling me eventually, though,” she continues. “You gave me a fright, when I walked down here and saw somebody on the couch. Lucky I didn’t hit you with this.” She raises her pan, full of some sort of stir-fry. It’s supposed to look threatening, Zayn’s sure.

“Yeah, okay.”

His mom swirls the stir-fry around a bit before shaking it out onto two plates. She slides one across to him, then sits down across from Zayn.

“Good. Now, eat up. You look too small.”

“You _always_ look small, Mom.”

She waves her fork threateningly at Zayn, and he laughs. A bit of the tension in his shoulders eases, and yeah, this was the right decision.

 

****

 

It feels good, being away from Niall and all the other soulmates, free to think things over at his own pace. But it only lasts until Zayn remembers that his phone died the night he left for home, and it starts buzzing angrily. Who knew phones could be so mad?

There are a few missed calls: one from Louis, two from Liam, and whopping six from Harry. They each left voicemails—Liam and Harry each leaving two—and Zayn handles those first.

“Hi, it’s, um, me, Harry. I don’t know where you are… you’re supposed to be home, but you’re not, and we’re really worried about you. Please call back. _Message deleted.”_

“Zayn, where the _fuck_ are you, you motherfucking son of a fucking b— _Message deleted.”_

“Hey, um, Harry told me to call you. Dunno why, but, uh, maybe talk to him. He’s glaring at me, so. Definitely call him, please. _Message deleted.”_

“Oh, good to fucking know you don’t even answer when I call from Liam’s phone, you motherfu— _Message deleted.”_ So Louis left two, then.

“Hi. It’s Harry, uh, again. We met him, Bres, and, um, we’re so sorry. Just let us know you’re okay. Please.”

Zayn bangs his head back against the wall then. _Breathe in, breathe out._ How great, that they’ve all met Bressie. Can be one big happy family, or some shit. It’s harder to delete than the other ones, this last voicemail, but he does.

_“Message deleted.”_

Then he opens up the group chat between him, Louis and Harry—it’s titled _Please stop putting the empty milk cartons back into the fridge_ —and sends a quick ‘I’m fine’ message without looking at any of the texts.

Zayn pointedly doesn’t look at his message thread with Niall. He doesn’t know if Niall texting him or Niall _not_ texting him would be worse. Whichever it is, Zayn very much doesn’t want to know. It’ll definitely hurt either way.

 

****

 

There are pros and cons, Zayn thinks, that shit hit the fan when the holidays were just around the corner. Good because the boys are too busy to text him all the time, as they’re visiting their own families for a few days, and bad because after Boxing Day the texts come back with a vengeance.

Or, Louis’ texts feel vengeful. Liam’s are worried, Harry’s are pleading, and Niall’s sit unread in his inbox. And Zayn ignores them all, looks at the message previews that pop up on his screen but swipes them away without replying.

And it works, for a while.

 

****

 

“C’mon, Zayn! One more song?”

Zayn flings his arms to the side, closing his eyes and putting on an exaggerated frown. One of the remotes is digging into his back but he just stretches out more.

“No. You keep beating me, Saf. Have mercy.”

“We haven’t even done a Rihanna song yet.”

They both know he’s going to do it. As much as Zayn isn’t a fan of dancing, he’s not at all opposed to making himself look stupid if it’s to make his sisters laugh. He’s not going to be able to come back for an extended period of time like this for another few months, so he might as well cram in as much embarrassment as he can while he’s here.

Zayn sighs loudly, cracks one eye open to look up at his little sister. “Fine. Easy mode, though. And let me win.”

“Not on your life.”

Of course not.

He’s just pulled himself up from the carpet and stood in place in front of the TV when someone comes through the basement door.

“Didn’t know you were a fan of dancing video games.”

Zayn lurches, and he spares a glance towards the figure in the doorway before looking back to the screen. His cheeks are burning. Can any person just walk up to the door, say they’re a friend of his and have his mom let them in? God.

“Uh, I’m not.”

Safaa snorts and starts the song, _of course,_ and Zayn has to start moving along. It’s a fucking Katy Perry song, and Zayn thinks he would rather die than be berated while _Hot N Cold_ plays in the background.

“God, Saf, come _on.”_

“On the contrary, it looks like you’re quite the fan.”

Zayn would argue but he’s waving his arm in the air along with his character, shaking the controller, so it wouldn’t be convincing. He only spares Louis a noise of acknowledgement. Saf definitely won’t pause it so they can chat, and she’ll make them do this song again as well. God.

“Who knew we just had to get some neon graphics and a controller to get you to move. Harry’ll be annoyed you never dance with him.” A pause, then, “You look ridiculous, by the way.”

“Louis, why are you here?” Zayn sighs. If Louis insists on having a conversation, then, like, whatever. At least Zayn has an excuse to not look him in the eye.

“Because you’ve been gone for a week. And you never text us back. Liam thought I should just let you come back on your own, but I know you’re stubborn as shit. So.” Louis gestures to himself grandly; Zayn can see his arms waving in his peripheral. “Here I am. To drag you out of your moping.”

“Not moping.”

“... Right.”

Louis stops talking then, and it’s surprisingly worse. Knowing he’s there, standing in dead silence as he watches Zayn wave around a controller to a Katy Perry song. If only he could jump out of his own skin right now, so he didn’t have to deal with any of this. It’s too soon to start thinking about anything that’s happened in the past week, and Zayn’s already a bit nauseous over it, knowing Louis wants to chat. Or berate, maybe; It’s hard to tell with him.

The song drags on but eventually ends. Zayn loses spectacularly, and Louis starts hollering and clapping when Safaa takes a dramatic bow.

“That was truly a gift to watch. Thank you,” Louis says to her, smiling widely. “Could I kidnap him for a bit, now? Not that I couldn’t watch him flail all day, but—”

“We’ll finish our game later. Or never. Let’s go, then.” Zayn sighs, but waves for Louis to follow him down the hall.

The door shuts behind them, and Louis casually sprawls across his unmade bed. He hums as he looks up at the ceiling, and Zayn almost swears out loud when he realizes Louis is looking at the glow in the dark stars he put up ages ago.

“This your room since you were in high school?”

 _Duh,_ Zayn thinks. Louis knew he went straight to university out-of-state after graduation, since they shared a dorm floor for their first two years. He knows Zayn never came back home for an extended period of time, because they’ve been friends ever since. That, and his walls are covered in superhero posters and some of his own doodles. The room practically screams teenage boy.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. He pauses and waits for Louis to say something else, and when he doesn’t, Zayn huffs and scrubs at his eyes. He _really_ isn’t ready for this conversation. “Why are you here, Louis?”

Louis narrows his eyes, pulls himself up so he’s sitting and can glare at Zayn straight on. Good, honestly. The sooner this starts the sooner it’s over.

“Why? Because you texted us _once_ that you were okay, then went fucking Danny Phantom for a week. I’m honestly done letting you pull this shit with us.”

While it’s definitely true, Zayn feels anger and heat fill his stomach, flooding to his cheeks. “I needed some time, Louis. You guys know what happened with him; Harry left me a voicemail about it.”

“We know you’re upset, but—” Louis huffs angrily, somehow manages to criss-cross his legs in an aggressive way. “You can’t shut us out when we just want to make sure you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere. Like, you _knew_ Niall would find his soulmate, and I know you’re upset because you’re basically in love with him. The quicker you come home and get back into your regular routine or whatever, the quicker you’ll get used to this and get over him.”

It’s so much worse, Zayn thinks, to hear someone else say that Niall found his soulmate. It’s one thing to see that both of their counters read zero and come to a conclusion and another to have it confirmed. It fucking sucks.

“Just come home, bro.” Louis shakes his head, digging his fingers into his own knees and visibly draining of his remaining anger. “Liam and Harry are worried, of course, but Niall misses you the most, I think. I know it’s going to be hard, but Zayn, you can’t just chuck Niall away because his counter reached zero.”

Breath caught in his throat, Zayn moves from where he was leaning with his back against the door and sits carefully beside Louis on his bed.

“I, um…”

Zayn tries to clear his throat, but it just closes up more until his eyes are stinging and his head is pounding. Shakily, he pulls up his sleeve and without looking at it, rests his arm on Louis’ leg.

It’s a few seconds before Louis gets it. Zayn can tell when he does, because Louis makes a confused noise, and then his fingers are stretching at the skin on Zayn’s forearm, rubbing over it quickly until it’s warm from the friction.

“What the fuck? Why isn’t it going? Did you meet anyone? It’s not even at zero, Zayn.”

“I broke it. Or something. I was at the coffee shop with him when he met Bressie. I left as soon as I realized, and when I got home…” Zayn gestures to his arm, the _00:00:25:45_ in stark black that blends in nicely with his tattoos, but doesn’t fit in quite enough. “Ta-da.”

“Jesus,” Louis mutters. He traces his fingers over the numbers, and Zayn’s breath goes out shaky, trying not to tear up again. He’s lost enough time crying over these stupid numbers. “What do you think happened?”

Zayn laughs, a sharp and humourless noise that rips from his throat. “You think I know? Maybe I blinked when I wasn’t supposed to.”

They both know it had to be something more than that for his numbers to stop changing and go black in colour, but Louis just gives him a pitying look, squeezes his hand tightly for a second before he’s standing again.

“Okay, you’re forgiven. I’m going to need to stay the night, or get a hotel room, by the way, because it’s too late for me to drive all the way back home.” He looks at Zayn with raised eyebrows, doesn’t continue until Zayn snaps out of his surprise at the sudden topic change and nods.

“Can have the couch, yeah. ‘Course. Like… that’s it, though?”

Louis nods, like everything has been resolved. “Yep. Now, I was promised I’d get to see you dance to another choreographed song. And I’m getting it on video this time. For… reasons.”

The clamp around Zayn’s throat relaxes slightly, and he manages to get himself to follow Louis back out of his room. “You were promised _nothing,_ asshole. And I have worse videos of you singing karaoke than you could ever take of me, so think twice. Eleanor would like them.”

“Eleanor will love me no matter what. She thinks I’m charming,” Louis scoffs, but he goes a little red in the face and crosses his arms defensively when he does.

He also doesn’t take out his phone while Zayn’s dancing awkwardly to 2005-era Rihanna, so Zayn counts it as a victory. It’s the first win he’s had in a while, after all, and he’ll take what he can get.

 

****

 

It turns out that Louis knows Zayn’s family’s address because Liam—for some weird reason—has Louis’, Harry’s, and Zayn’s moms’ phone numbers, and Louis had called her and asked. Zayn doesn’t remember how Liam got the numbers, but he has them now, so it doesn’t really matter.

Still, Louis leaves the next morning with a hug and a threatening pointer finger waved a few inches away from Zayn’s nose.

He helped Zayn feel a bit better, at least. Made him remember how much he misses the boys’ company and the bustle of the city. He’s not quite ready to leave his mom’s home cooked meals yet, but it’s something.

He stays for a few days longer, playing games with his sisters and taking them out to the movies and such. Zayn’s phone doesn’t stop buzzing, the text previews concerned or angry or just updating him on everyday happenings. He sets his phone face-down on the armrest of the couch and focuses on _Finding Nemo_ instead of the lump in his throat.

Niall still texts him sometimes. Zayn doesn’t open them, but he sees that he’s sending some photos from the previews, and from the texts that immediately follow, Zayn’s pretty sure that Niall is sending him pictures of every dog he sees. It’s endearing and heartbreaking, and Zayn ultimately decides to turn off his phone for the time being.

 

****

 

“Oh, he finally returns! Your room has been empty for a week, bro. Were starting to think we had to sell your stuff and find a new roommate.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and throws his shoulder into the door to get it to shut. When he turns back around, Louis and Harry are standing in the kitchen with their shoes on.

“What’s going on?”

Louis shrugs and shoves his wallet into his pocket. “We’re going out tonight. And since you’re home, you’re coming with. Get ready.”

Harry’s looking at him, wide smile already plastered to his face, and Zayn knows he isn’t getting out of this.

“Fine.”

The glare Louis is directing at him turns slightly less murderous.

 

****

 

They’re going to the bar, because it’s not like they ever hang out anywhere else. Harry is bouncing along in front of them, and Louis is holding onto Zayn’s elbow like he’ll bolt given the chance. Which— well, that’s fair.

Liam’s already saved them a booth, and he gives Zayn a squeeze around the shoulders when he plops down beside him. “Hey, how’ve you been? It’s been a week and a half.”

Zayn can only manage to look at him sheepishly and give him a little shrug. Liam’s smile dims a bit, verging on pitying, Zayn thinks, but he doesn’t push it.

“You haven’t missed that much,” Harry says. It sounds like he’s talking to himself, voice just quieter than the noise of the bar. He isn’t looking up from his phone, either, but that’s pretty typical.

They lapse into silence. Liam is looking at Zayn concernedly, like he’s hoping Zayn will crack under his puppy dog eyes and spill all his emotions. Harry continues mumbling to himself, tapping on his phone and looking up with his nose scrunched.

“Uh, Louis is getting us drinks,” Zayn says, just to fill the quiet. Harry looks back at him with raised eyebrows, lets out a little huff of laughter but doesn’t say anything. God, Zayn should have faked an illness or something. He doesn’t remember a time when he’s felt this tense around his friends, but here he is.

Harry suddenly jerks his head up from his screen, looking at Liam and raising his eyebrows in a way that he’s probably intending to be subtle but is, predictably, falling far from it. He very determinedly doesn’t look at Zayn, and when Zayn turns to look at Liam—because, like, _what the fuck,_ right?—Liam’s staring back at Harry disapprovingly.

“What is it?” Zayn asks, because they’re trying to communicate via eyebrow waggles, now, and Zayn can’t bear to watch it much longer.

Liam looks at him guiltily. “Um, well, you see…” He trails off, staring at something over Zayn’s shoulder, and Zayn turns to look.

It turns out, Louis was set on bringing more than just drinks back to the booth with him.

“Hey, Zayno,” Niall says.

Zayn’s breath catches in his throat, because Niall is _glowing,_ more so than usual. It’s like something in Niall’s body has settled, leaving him all content and soft. Maybe Zayn’s just projecting; he looks down at Niall’s arm, at the zeros, and is reminded again why it’s been so long since they’ve seen each other.

“Hey.”

Niall grins, gestures for him and Liam to scooch over so he can fit in beside Zayn.

“Missed you, bro,” Niall says. His voice sounds hurt, but concerned and thankfully not angry.

Zayn still feels guilty, though, and he has to force himself not to physically flinch at the idea that he’s hurt Niall somehow. That he’s made Niall feel even fractionally as bad as Zayn’s felt over the past two weeks.

“I’m sorry,” is all he comes up with. Sorry for leaving, sorry for not replying to Niall’s texts, sorry for making them all worry. Sorry for being in love with Niall in the first place, even though it feels like it was inevitable, like Zayn was falling into it before he even noticed he’d tripped. It’s not enough, but Niall still shakes his head.

“No worries, Zayn,” Niall says.

Zayn nods, and then looks back towards the rest of the boys, where they’re arguing about sports, or something else that Zayn hasn’t been paying attention to. He’s trying to look as engaged as he usually is, nodding along and humming, but Niall’s a warm presence at his side—more _there_ than Zayn can remember how to handle.

It feels worse than he thought it would, somehow. When he was visiting home, Zayn missed them all like phantom limbs, but he forgot about _this._ About the sharp ache he feels when Niall is around, how he knows that if he touches Niall’s hand, it means too much to Zayn and not enough to Niall. And Zayn doesn’t want to be mad, because it isn’t Niall’s fault, but it’s hard to smile and act like he’s over him.

Being over Niall feels like a pipe dream, at this point.

Zayn’s hands are resting on the table, folded together, and Niall taps the inside of Zayn’s wrist with soft fingers to get his attention. “Hey, um. Is this— are we fine?” He gestures between the two of them, hand lightly hitting Zayn’s chest as he does, and it feels like a jolt.

Zayn wants to tear the very fabric of time apart, go back and do whatever he needs to do to get his soulmate counter working again. To get it to sync up with Niall’s, ideally. He wants Niall to be happy, even if it’s not with him, but _this_ feels like too much, and Zayn’s definitely not fine. Not for now, at least.

But with Niall looking at him like this, all dimmed sunlight as if he’s done something wrong, even though this is definitely Zayn’s own goddamn fault, he can’t even consider saying no.

“Yeah. We’re fine, Niall. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a handful of papers due this month so an update may take a little while, but I'll try to write as much as I can. Thank you as always for reading!


	7. 13 days after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(Fix it all up in post.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm so, so sorry for the wait. All my finals were crammed into the first week after classes ended, which left me no time to write after all my assignments & papers were due. I know no one really cares lol but I'm just like... making sure people know I'm not not-updating of my own want. Anyways, still sorry.
> 
> As always, thanks to Lex for looking this over for me. Thanks also to Madi for sending me a link to some fanart ([here if you wanna see it; it's real cute](https://deenasauruss.tumblr.com/post/168489255371/teaching-the-bf-how-to-iceskate)) that inspired me to re-write the skating scene that I originally scrapped (bc it was shit the first time around honestly). The skating scene isn't really like the fanart but still.
> 
> And thanks to The Killers for giving me a beautiful album to write this fic to. (Buy Wonderful Wonderful on iTunes or whatever.)

“This was a shit idea.”

“This was a _great_ idea, Zayn.”

“How can that be true when all your ideas so far have been shit?”

Liam frowns at him, then, and Zayn sighs. “Okay, but I seriously can’t skate. Why can’t we just go out drinking like we usually do? Or watch another fucking movie? I can _do_ those things.”

“Broaden your horizons,” Louis says. He’s laying down across Liam’s entire back seat with his feet sticking out the window despite it being fucking freezing. “Like, we always do the same shit. It’s getting boring and predictable. Also we all booked the day off, and that’s never going to happen for another six years, so suck it up.”

Zayn grumbles and sinks down in his seat. Usually, Liam tends to brake and accelerate too abruptly, and Zayn prays for a second that Louis forgot to put on his seatbelt so he’ll fall onto the floor. Just so there’s at least a bright spot in what’s sure to be a shitty experience.

Despite his prayers, Liam makes an agonizingly slow turn into the sportsplex, Louis stays put, and they find a parking spot right near the front. They both jump out, and Zayn reluctantly follows after Liam pouts at him for a few seconds. They go inside and get in the line for rental skates, and Zayn sighs, stomach sinking as he resigns himself to spending his afternoon falling on his ass in front of Niall. God, this is gonna suck.

“I’m just going to embarrass myself,” Zayn mumbles.

Louis laughs loudly, slings his arm around Zayn’s shoulders. “Bro, that’s the only reason why we’re here.”

 

****

 

Harry, Niall, and Bressie are already on the ice by the time Zayn finally makes it to the entrance of the actual rink. Eleanor showed up not a minute after they got their skates, and Louis predictably went off with her instead of helping Zayn do up his laces. It’s probably better to get Liam to do that anyway, Zayn thinks. Considering he wouldn’t even let Zayn leave his own apartment without making sure he had “the right socks” on.

“It’s not as hard as it looks.”

Zayn snorts. He has a death grip on the railing even though he’s still on the sponge-y floor and not the ice. “Yes, it is. I’ve been skating before, Liam. I’m just shit at it.”

Meanly, Liam laughs and glides easily onto the ice. It probably wasn’t meant meanly, but, like, he doesn’t need to show off.

“When was the last time you went? How old were you?”

Zayn’s cheeks only turn red from how cold it is, really. Not because the last time he went ice skating he was eleven and got a bloody nose. He doubts Liam would give him enough sympathy points to warrant Zayn sitting on the bleachers for the next hour.

“Come on. You look even more stupid standing _not_ on the ice.”

Just then, a kid no older than eight runs past Zayn, flying into the rink and taking off like he’s in the NHL or something. He almost bowls Liam over, which would have made Zayn feel better, but Liam only sways slightly.

“Oh, you look even _worse_ now, bro.”

And that’s how he finds himself clutching to the side of the rink instead of the railing leading into it. Liam gets bored with him pretty quickly after ages of trying to coax Zayn away from the wall to no avail. Whatever. They all knew Zayn didn’t want to come and forced him to anyway. That gives him a free pass to be as grumpy and uncooperative as he wants.

After a few minutes, in which Zayn makes very little progress shuffling away from the main door onto the ice and never letting go of the wall, Niall finds him.

“Bro! Thought you didn’t want to come.”

“I didn’t,” Zayn says. He softens it with a laugh, though, because it’s Niall. “Liam pouted at me, though, so.”

Niall nods. “Ahh. That makes sense, yeah.” He hums a bit, hands in his pockets as he slides slightly back and forth on the ice. Really, anything feels like showing off when Zayn can hardly stay upright.

Then, Niall brightens and suddenly smacks Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn’s life flashes before his eyes a bit, but Niall just screws up his face and chuckles lightly. “Sorry bro. Um, wait here a sec, yeah?”

Zayn looks at him, trying to convey exactly how unimpressed he is, but Niall just grins and starts gliding backwards again.

“Nah, bro, I’m planning on making my way into the middle. Do some twirls, maybe challenge a toddler to a race.”

Niall shoots him finger guns. “Better win if you do. Ha, okay,” then he skates right off of the ice.

They could have all left, as far as Zayn knows. He feels safer looking solely down at his feet, he finds, and hasn’t looked up since. He’s probably too frozen to skate even if he wanted to, now. He definitely can’t feel his nose, and can only feel his fingers because his knuckles are aching with how hard he’s hanging onto the wall.

When Niall skates back to him, spraying ice shavings into Zayn’s shins, he has one of the tiny bar contraptions that kids use to learn to skate.

“You’re kidding.”

Niall shakes his head, and his expression is genuine, not joking like Zayn thought he would be.

“Like, it’s shit if you’re not having fun, so give it a try. Skating’s better when you can actually move around.” Niall shrugs, swings himself and the bars around until they’re facing the same way as Zayn is.

“Niall… this looks stupid.”

“If you wanted to save yourself from looking stupid then maybe you shouldn’t have stayed glued to this wall for ten minutes,” Niall says. He grabs Zayn’s elbow gently but doesn’t tug, thankfully. “C’mon, bro. Do it for a laugh, act like it’s a bit of a joke or something. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Zayn glances up at Niall’s earnest gaze, then across the rink to where his hunk of a soulmate is, laughing with Liam as they try to see who can spray up the most ice shavings with their skates.

“I’m fine, like… Go hang out with Bressie and them. Or, wait. Help me get to a bench, _then_ go,” Zayn amends.

Niall shakes his head. “Nope. Watching you stand here alone is honest to God making me sad. You’re my friend and if you’re going to look stupid I want you to have fun doing it. They can wait; I’m hanging out with you right now.”

A kid passes them then, and he’s sitting on the bars while a man Zayn assumes is his father pushes them. He snorts a bit, listening to the boy whoop and holler at the man to go faster. Niall hums, then nudges Zayn’s elbow again.

“Can try that if you want.”

That sounds a lot better than Zayn using the bars on his own. So, even though Niall’s soulmate is on the other side of the rink and Zayn feels guilty as hell for taking Niall away from him, Zayn nods and lets Niall help him to sit on the bars, skates resting on the lower ones. Niall can’t push him as fast as the man was pushing the kid, but it’s pretty fun anyways.

Bressie and Niall both seem to not be bothered, even though Zayn feels like he’s a wedge in between them or something. He doesn’t know what to make of that.

 

****

 

The next time they all get together for a movie night, Niall shows up a half hour early.

“I know I’m early,” Niall says, standing on Zayn’s doorstep with his hands up in defense. _“But_ I brought alcohol, so I’m hoping you’ll forgive me.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and steps back to let Niall in, of course. “Oh yeah, our schedule is real strict around here.” He looks at the bottle Niall shoves into his hands and makes an impressed noise in his throat. “Not just the cheapest wine, even! You’re already forgiven in that case.”

Niall’s laugh bounces around the apartment, vibrating warmly in Zayn’s chest until he’s smiling, too. It’s been ages since Zayn can remember being able to smile at Niall without feeling a stabbing pain in his chest. The feeling is still there now, but it’s a bit dulled.

Slow progress is still progress, Zayn reasons.

Zayn makes his way into the living room, where Niall and all his whirlwind energy have decided to set up camp on the couch. There’s multiple bags of chips piled on the coffee table, including these weird kale chips Liam and Harry are into. Zayn doesn’t remember Niall bringing any in, but he isn’t going to question it.

“I know the other boys aren’t here yet, but I already called dibs for you to pick the movie,” Niall is saying. He’s pouring some of the chips into bowls, and Zayn didn’t see him pick those up either. Spacing out is apparently becoming a bit of a problem for him.

“You called dibs on my behalf? How thoughtful of you.” Zayn laughs, hovers awkwardly behind the couch. What’s he doing? This is _his own apartment._ He can sit down on his own couch.

Niall shrugs, waves his hand in the air in dismissal while crumpling an empty bag with the other. “I picked last week so I can’t, like, go again. Figured you’d be nice to me and pick _Deadpool_ to piss Harry off. We’ve watched it three weeks in a row, now.”

“Consider it done, then. For the cause.” Niall turns to grin up at Zayn, and there’s a huge fleck of something green—the stuff on sour cream and onion chips, probably—stuck in his front teeth. God, Zayn wants to kiss him.

He doesn’t need to see it to know that his own smile falls a bit flat. If he couldn’t feel it in his cheeks, he’d know from the way Niall’s smile dims, and the way Zayn’s stomach twists in response. The air is a bit heavy, even though Niall’s all breezy and seems like he’s on a different level. Like a helium balloon and Zayn’s a ceiling, or another simile that’s equally stupid.

“I’m, uh. Going to go get some more booze?” Zayn’s voice raises in the end like a question, even though—he reminds himself, again—this is _his_ apartment. He can’t quite figure out why he feels like he needs to ask Niall for permission to leave him alone in Zayn’s space. They’ve been in the same circle for ages, now, and Niall definitely feels at home at theirs. Well, that or he’s a good liar.

Niall nods at him, head tilting a bit in confusion but otherwise not indicating anything is weird. Which— that’s good, really. Zayn would rather not talk about how _off_ he is. Especially not _why_ he’s so off.

In the kitchen, he opens up the fridge, notes that someone used the last of the milk and put the empty carton back in, and pulls out his phone.

 **_Zayn:_ ** _Please hurry up_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _Also pick up some fuckin milk tomorrow its still the name of our groupchat Lou wtf_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _Asshole . I had none for my tea this morning_

 **_Louis:_ ** _get fuckt_

 **_Harry:_ ** _Why hurry? Is Niall already there?_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _Yeah_

 **_Louis:_ ** _… fine ill hurry_

He takes his sweet time pulling the beers out of the fridge, very carefully pulling each can out of its ring, then breaking apart all of the plastic because he read about it being bad for fish once. There’s no way Niall is buying that Zayn is genuinely taking this long to get booze.

Zayn can feel his heartbeat in his throat, and there’s definitely a part of his head that’s beating himself up for being so fucking awkward, but what can he do, really? He’s, like, halfway in love with Niall at _least_ and then Niall had to go and find his soulmate. Or, really, his clock had to hit zero and Zayn had to have the extreme misfortune of being there. Seeing Niall beaming at Bressie whenever he closes his eyes, the brightness in his eyes that Zayn suddenly doubts he’d ever made Niall feel.

It’s fine. He’s still screwed up about everything, but Zayn ran out of sick days for the year. So he _has_ to be fine.

“Hey, everything okay?”

Zayn jumps a bit, the cycle of _“you’re fine, you’ll be fine, stop being so fucking weird, chill the fuck out, you’re fine—”_ going around in his head stopping and stuttering abruptly. He glances over his shoulder, looking at where Niall is standing with his elbows on the island, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, everything’s good, bro,” Zayn says. It’s probably unconvincing, but he’s never been a good actor.

Niall makes a noise of what sounds like disbelief and Zayn shuts the fridge. No need to waste electricity just because he’s trying to avoid his problems.

“It doesn’t feel like everything’s okay.”

Heart stuttering in his chest, Zayn chuckles lightly and rolls his eyes. Very nonchalant, very cool. He can’t stop pacing, though, now that Niall’s in the room with him, gaze following Zayn as he flits about. Zayn ends up in front of Nemo’s fish bowl, and he taps a few flakes into the water just to justify the walk. He doesn’t usually overfeed the fish, so he should be fine this once, right?

“I feel like we have this conversation every week, like, honestly,” Zayn laughs, awkwardly making his way back to stand in front of the island.

Niall’s eyebrows get even more concerned, and Zayn has to quickly look down at where he set the beers down on the counter. “That’s because I feel like we’re never quite on the right foot. Like…” Niall huffs, runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I feel like I’m just missing you. Like I’m a half step behind you and I don’t even realize it until you’re onto the next. If that makes any fucking sense.”

And what is Zayn supposed to say to that? Niall looks up at him, expression bordering on desperate, and words get caught in Zayn’s throat. Zayn wants to be able to find the right words, smooth out the upset lines on his forehead, but there’s nothing there. No words of wisdom Zayn can pluck out of thin air, or even something to make Niall laugh.

“Maybe we’re, like, doing different dances or something,” is what he comes up with, voice quiet and a bit strained. It falls short, pulls Niall’s frown a bit deeper.

Niall’s fingers twitch and drum on the countertop. “Don’t want to be, though. I want to be on the same page.”

“Me too.”

Niall nods. He waits for Zayn to say more, but Zayn’s drawing a total blank, just radio static in his brain, so Niall continues. “It’s something to do with soulmates, right? Like, me and Bressie?”

Zayn can’t help but huff a bit, because, like, _come on,_ right? Of course it is. But then Niall raises his eyebrows and he looks genuinely like this is news to him, slightly surprised, and Zayn jolts a bit at that. It hadn’t really occurred to him that Niall wasn’t sure what the exact reason he bolted from the coffee shop was.

Maybe Zayn should thank the boys for keeping their mouths shut.

“Hello! I’m home and ready to watch whatever Zayn’s little heart desires!”

Zayn turns towards the door, watches as Louis struggles with the door like he always does. Still, though, he can feel Niall’s eyes on him.

“We have to wait for Liam and Harry, stupid,” Zayn says.

Louis kicks his feet, chucking his shoes towards the wall where they bang loudly. “Who the fuck cares about them? I’m ready to get drunk and watch whatever shitty Ryan Reynolds movie you pick out.” He rounds the corner, yanks Zayn’s hoodie strings all the way out before stealing both of the beers from the counter on his way to the living room. Annoying fucker.

“Oh, and some okay-looking wine as well! Did we win the Lotto Max?”

“No, and it’s for later, so don’t touch it,” Zayn yells, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. They’re cool from holding the beers. “And it’s _not_ a shitty movie. Fuck off.”

Zayn gives one last glance to Niall—looking at Zayn all contemplative and serious—before turning back to the fridge, grabbing replacement cans and following after Louis.

Soon after, Harry and Liam knock on the door, and Harry makes a truly pathetic-sounding frustrated noise when he sees the _Deadpool_ main menu pulled up on the screen. It makes Niall laugh, and Zayn can’t help but grin at him where he’s sitting on the end of the couch farthest from Zayn.

A few minutes into the movie, with Harry loudly complaining over the audio and Liam trying to hush him, Zayn nudges his toes against Niall’s thigh. Niall pats gently at his ankle without looking up at him.

Zayn’s starting to think Niall was right about being a step behind.

 

****

 

Sometimes, when they go out, Niall asks if he can bring Bressie along, occasionally tacking on a few other friends onto the list as well. The boys always shrug—the more the merrier, or whatever—and Zayn doesn’t want Niall not to invite his soulmate or anything, but it always makes the night a bit more difficult to get through.

By some miracle, Zayn avoids being alone with just Niall, and they don’t continue their conversation about soulmates and how broken up Zayn is about it all.

Niall doesn’t invite Bressie when they go out for Zayn’s belated birthday celebration, and Zayn feels as guilty as he does thankful.

 

****

 

“You’ve been bailing on us.”

Zayn sighs and tips his head back against the door. “Why do you always ambush me right when I get home? Like, won’t even let me take off my coat or get a snack or anything.”

Louis rolls his eyes, leans his shoulder against the wall and waits as Zayn takes off his boots. He undoes the laces slowly, feeling Louis’ annoyance weighing the air in the apartment. When Zayn eventually looks back to him, Louis is even more pissed.

“Don’t avoid the question.”

“I didn’t hear a question.”

Louis frustratedly pushes himself off the wall and, okay. Zayn’s being a bit of a dick, now.

“There was one _implied._ I want to know why.”

Nudging past Louis, Zayn goes to grab a water bottle from the kitchen, takes huge gulps and watches Louis get more and more angry at him as he does.

“I’m taking extra shifts. Making it up because I dropped everything to run home to my mom last month. I’m tired and shit.” Louis raises his eyebrows. “You know why. Come on, Lou,” Zayn finishes. “It’s awkward. Like, I still like him and he probably still pities me and sending all these mixed signals or whatever because he feels bad. I’ve just… gotta figure it out on my own, then I’ll be good.”

Louis shrugs. “That’s not good enough for me. You’re all mopey and shit all the time. It’s a fucking buzzkill, bro.”

It’s a good thing Zayn’s known Louis long enough to know he’s concerned and not just being brash for no reason. Zayn scrubs tiredly at his eyes. It’s not like he’s trying to be so moody; he really _is_ trying to get over Niall, mostly by distraction. He’s just moody because it’s not working.

“We’re going out.”

Zayn groans and Louis narrows his eyes. “We’re too broke to be going out all the time,” Zayn says.

“Fine. Your first two drinks are on me. _We’re going out tonight._ Harry will be there. Even Liam is going to come, and he said he won’t bail after a half hour this time.” Louis pulls the water bottle from Zayn’s hands and starts pushing at his shoulders, guiding Zayn down the hall towards his room.

“Go. Put on functioning human clothes. I’m missing our scheduled date night with my girlfriend for this. You’ll have a good time tonight if it kills you.”

 

****

 

“This is going to kill me.”

Louis just shrugs, gestures to the bartender with ridiculously tall hair and says something to him that Zayn can’t hear. The bartender glances at Zayn, grins, then sets up two more shot glasses. Already Zayn’s throat burns just looking at them.

“Might, but that’s the risk you take.”

“Risk you’re _forcing_ me to take,” Zayn says, because it needs to be clarified. Louis gives him a glare more menacing than the alcohol looks, though, so Zayn takes the shot. Immediately his eyes water and he has to cough a bit. “God, what is that? Rubbing alcohol?”

Louis just whoops loudly, raising his hand and high-fiving someone who walks up to them, whom Zayn can’t see yet for how blurry his vision has suddenly gone. Liam, by the sounds of it.

“Catch up, bro!”

A hand claps down on Zayn’s shoulder, and he can almost make out Liam’s grin. “You guys are, like, Usain Bolt or something. I couldn’t even catch up if you gave me a head start.”

“Give it a shot. Like, literally a shot,” Louis says, laughing and gesturing at the bartender again, who had already migrated over like he _knew_ they’d be needing more. Zayn thinks he’ll never need another shot in his life, with how strong this is.

Somehow Liam looks more disgusted at the thought of taking the shot than Zayn felt, but takes it with less resistance. Zayn feels a bit better when he sees Liam’s eyes twitch and he makes a stressed-sounding noise in the back of his throat.

“Christ, what the fuck, Lou? That’s horrible.” He blinks hard and shoves at Louis’ face lightly. “Harry here yet?”

“Do you see him here?”

“No.”

“Well then he isn’t, because he always sticks out like a sore thumb. Could never miss him.” Liam nods at that, gives Zayn’s shoulder a quick squeeze before moving to sit down at the stool on Louis’ other side.

The bar is absurdly packed for a Thursday night. Maybe there’s some event going on that Zayn’s missed or forgot about, but it’s crammed tight enough that their usual booth was taken when they got there. The thought of dipping out early is so, _so_ tempting, and it would be more so if he doesn’t think Louis would kill him or drag him out again tomorrow.

While alcohol is great in the moment for forgetting all his problems, they usually all come crashing back down on him by the time Zayn stumbles into his room at the end of the night. And it's worse, then, having all these thoughts and internal scolding whirling around his brain when he’s coming down from a buzz. It’s more difficult to forcibly move his focus to a different topic.

It’s with that in mind that Zayn waves for another drink.

“Aw, fuck.”

Swearing coming from Louis isn’t new, so Zayn initially doesn’t look up. Liam’s head snapping quickly to look at Zayn however is hard to ignore, even in Zayn’s peripheral, and that makes him curious enough to tear his own focus from the bottom of his glass to his friends.

“What?”

Zayn nudges him, but Louis is just staring off to the side, and when Zayn follows his eyeline he thinks, yeah. _Aw, fuck_ is right.

They’ve only met a few times, but the image of Bressie and Niall smiling and laughing at each other with their soulmate counters all ran out is burned into Zayn’s mind, and that’s _definitely_ Bressie standing on the stage, tuning a guitar. Like there’s only one bar nearby that does open mics, the others being closer to downtown or dance clubs, but Zayn’s luck can _not_ really be this horrible. Maybe he should temporarily move or something. Just until he gets his Niall-slash-soulmate situation under control.

“Oh, that’s Bressie, right?” _Shut up, Liam,_ Zayn thinks. “Think Niall’s up there with him? We should keep an eye out for him. Might be nearer the front, though. Since, like… soulmates, yeah?” _Shut the_ fuck _up, Liam._

“You have to be one of the most frustrating people I’ve ever met. I blacklisted _two things_ for tonight, Liam. Just _two_ things that you’re not allowed to talk about. Everything else is open season but you have to pick—”

Just when Zayn thinks he can’t stop himself from bolting, Harry pops up like a jack-in-the-box at his side.

“Sorry I’m late. Got caught up.” Harry orders a shot, takes it, makes small talk with the bartender for a full minute, and orders another shot before he seems to notice something’s off. “What’s going on?”

No one responds—Louis’ too busy berating and slapping Liam, Liam’s too busy being berated and slapped—so Harry pouts at them.

“Bressie’s here,” Zayn finally says, breaking only after Harry doesn’t seem to plan on stopping poking at Zayn’s cheek until he explains. “Like, for open mic, I guess.”

Harry winces a bit, probably sympathetically, before visibly brightening up again. “That’s shit, but that means Niall’s probably here, right?”

And that’s, like, fucking great. They’ve known about Niall possibly being here for _two seconds_ and already they forgot that Zayn doesn’t want to see him tonight. It pisses him off, really, because Zayn didn’t want to come in the first place, but it makes sense as well. Niall is endlessly smiley and the life of the party while Zayn’s been working himself to the bone and stuffing himself with shitty boxed macaroni for the better part of the past month.

Of course Harry would want to see Niall. They’re all friends, after all, Zayn reminds himself.

“Did you, like, talk more to your soulmate?” Zayn asks. He turns in his seat, drags Harry over by his arm so that Zayn’s back is to Bressie.

“Yeah. She’s, like, great.”

“Get her name yet?” Harry makes a face—one where his mouth stretches to the sides and Zayn can practically see the _yikes_ thought bubble above his head—and Zayn snorts. “Seriously? Did you not get her name? Like, ask for her Facebook or something?”

Harry makes a sad wailing noise, drops heavily down onto a barstool and smacks his head down quite hard onto the counter. “She’s _‘not into social media.’_ And I’m in way too deep to ask her now.”

It’s nice to know someone else’s love life is screwed up as well, Zayn admits. Even though this feels pretty minor compared to how Zayn’s soulmate counter is _broken,_ but he’ll take what he can get.

Zayn makes a noise that he hopes comes off as sympathetic, pats Harry’s head lightly as he groans into the bar again.

“Hey, Zayno!”

Zayn _really_ can’t catch a break.

“Hi, Niall,” Zayn says, spinning on his stool so he can face him. His hair is shining almost white in the fluorescent lights. “What’s up?”

Behind him, Louis gets up from his barstool, looks at Zayn and waggles his eyebrows. “Seat’s yours, bro,” he says, clapping Niall’s shoulder before getting up and dragging a confused Liam away with him.

“Cheers!” Niall laughs and sits down, then turns all his attention back to Zayn. It’s not fair how he does that, Zayn thinks. How Niall can make you feel like you’re the only one in the room, can make you feel infinitely important. Zayn might be biased, given, but still.

“Just here for Bres’ gig,” Niall continues. A beer appears next to him out of nowhere—or maybe Zayn didn’t notice he already had one—and he pauses to take a gulp. “He’s got this band, right, Blizzards or something. Quite good.”

Zayn nods, takes a gulp of his own drink so he can stall and think of something to say. He’s at a loss, though, and then the glass is empty, so he doesn’t say anything. Soon, though, Bressie’s band is starting a song and Niall’s attention is divided.

They’re pretty good. Bressie has a nice voice and he can play the guitar as well. The list of similarities between him and Niall keeps growing. Of course they’re soulmates; They have so much in common it’s ridiculous.

Zayn zones out, admittedly. Louis pops back in out of nowhere two songs in, smacking him on the back and practically pouring another shot down his throat. It hinders Zayn’s ability to focus on the music—or focus on anything at all—but he pays attention enough to know that they were good even if he didn’t hear Niall cheering and clapping once their set ends. The music stopping and the bar going relatively quiet snaps him back, and Niall spins around on his stool again to face Zayn as the band starts packing up. Niall’s face blurs around the edges, and Zayn _might_ be drunk.

“So, what are you doing out tonight?”

 _Attending a pity party thrown in my honour,_ Zayn thinks.

“Louis dragged me and offered to pay for my drinks,” Zayn says.

Niall laughs, “Could you get me in on that action?” Zayn can feel his face scrunch up, and Niall waves his hand. “Well, that’s a no if I’ve ever seen one.” Still, Niall shrugs his shoulders in an _oh well_ and gestures to the bartender anyways.

Brain foggy, Zayn determines he’s _definitely_ been staring at Niall for too long, so he lets his gaze drift away, swimming over the crowd of people still hanging around in front of the stage. The bar itself is small physically—apparently has been operating for years or whatever so they won’t expand it at all despite its popularity—so people usually end up pressed close out of circumstance. Zayn’s eyes catch on a couple, though, and he thinks, _but not that close._ _That_ isn’t circumstantial.

There are two people, Zayn can see through his tilted vision, pressed against the back wall, beside where the stage is. The guy is huge, broad in the shoulders, and Zayn recognizes him after a few moments of battling his buzzed brain. But— that’s not right. Right? _Not right,_ Zayn thinks.

“Niall—”

Niall stops talking—Zayn interrupted him, he realizes—and looks at Zayn concernedly. “Bro, you okay? You look, like…” Niall trails off, eyebrows furrowing more as he reaches out and squeezes Zayn’s shoulders. “Zayn, you’re freaking me out. You gonna pass out?”

Zayn shakes his head— _bad idea, bad,_ bad _idea,_ he thinks—and gestures with his hand over Niall’s shoulder. But Niall hardly spares a glance behind him, because Zayn’s tipping over a bit and Niall’s nice enough to steady him. But Niall _needs_ to see, because this isn’t right.

“S’at Bressie?” he asks, pointing at the couple with more purpose, but his arm is so heavy he just ends up resting his forearm on Niall’s shoulder.

Niall turns around fully, then looks back at Zayn with wide eyes when Zayn pulls himself off of the barstool. But that might be because Zayn’s center of balance is pitching aggressively to the side and he’s very much in danger of falling. The alcohol hits him like a punch, and that’s, like, Zayn’s own fault, he thinks. He hasn’t been drinking water and he’s been sitting in this one spot all night. It’s like he’s a teenager again, like he doesn’t know how to handle his liquor in the slightest.

He really hopes he doesn’t vomit. Zayn doesn’t want to vomit on Niall, or even in front of Niall.

Mm, how embarrassing. He can’t even, like, let Niall handle an issue in his relationship because he’s so fucking _drunk_ that he can’t be left alone. Niall might not even have heard him, or even seen Bressie and whoever that girl was. Like, Zayn doesn’t feel coherent. _Fuuuuuck._

“Okay, Zayn, chill. You’re not even standing up straight,” Niall says. His voice is so worried, and he moves so he can wrap one of his arms around Zayn’s waist. “We’ll just— Um, I’ll get you home. Where are…?” Niall doesn’t finish, looks around presumably for Louis or Harry. Zayn doesn’t know where they went. Zayn can’t even remember if someone drove him here or if they took a cab.

“I’ll just— call a cab or something,” Niall says. “We’ll get you home, bro.”

He’s very nice about it, hauling Zayn’s drunk ass out of the bar. He moves slowly, makes sure they only get minimally squashed by other patrons and that they aren’t moving so fast that Zayn gets sick. Niall is so _nice,_ and he always takes care of everyone. Zayn thinks it, thinks he should tell Niall that, and then turns to do so.

 _“You’re_ nice,” Niall says, chuckle in his voice, and then they’re outside finally, and it’s _freezing._ “Of course I’ll take care of you, Zayn. You’re one of my best friends.”

Which, like, okay, that hurts a bit. Zayn feels himself pout—thinking about his broken counter, Bressie in the bar, how warm and _good_ Niall is, how much Zayn loves him—and opts to hide his face in Niall’s neck. Best friends is good, best friends is all he can ask for. Zayn’s happy to have Niall in his life at all, and it’s good, even though Zayn’s still getting over the part where he feels like he’s being stabbed every time Niall looks at him with that sad look on his face. _God._

“Did y’see Bres?”

“Yeah,” Niall sighs. He waves his hand out wide, and a taxi pulls up pretty quickly. Niall helps wrangle them both into the back and gives the driver Zayn’s address.

“I’m sorry.”

Niall tugs Zayn’s shoulder until Zayn has to look at him. He rubs at his cheek, and oh, he didn’t realize a few tears leaked out. That’s not ideal.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for. Don’t worry about it,” Niall says. He seems to genuinely mean it, too, when Zayn looks at him, so Zayn decides to leave it. He’s too drunk to talk about this, anyways.

“Sorry for avoiding you, a bit, too. Still love you, though, Niall.”

“I know, Zayn,” Niall says. He runs his hand gently through Zayn’s hair in the backseat of the taxi, and Zayn nods, closes his eyes. Niall makes for a very good pillow.

Niall stays long enough to help Zayn untie his boots and make sure he gets in bed. He locks the door behind him with the spare key on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual let me know what you think, here or on tumblr or wherever! I appreciate any and all feedback so just... let me know what you like (or what you hate, but do it gently). Feedback makes me very, very happy. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. 61 days after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you the people who read this over for me, Lex and Pia. And I think I deserve some props for not posting after midnight my time, and also for not having a scene this chapter where they're in a bar lmao. I've been watching a lot of It's Always Sunny, in my defence.

Zayn wakes up at two in the afternoon with an awful headache. One of the ones that pounds right at the back of his head and behind his eyes. Apparently in addition to being hungover he also fell asleep at a weird angle, so there’s a twinge in his neck, too. Which is _just_ what he needs.

After ages of flipping over and failing to fall back asleep, Zayn gives up and hops into the shower. Trying to remember the night before hurts, and he feels as if he’s been run over by a bus. It’s not worth hurting himself more trying to. His memory is blurry at best, recalling spotting Bressie and realizing Niall was probably there with him—and the drop in his stomach that accompanied that—before it gets hazy again.

Whatever. Zayn just hopes he didn’t embarrass himself too badly.

“Good morning. Or should I say afternoon?” Louis shouts, once Zayn drags himself slowly into the kitchen. “Sleep well, princess?”

“Get fucked.”

“Should take your own advice, bro. _I’m_ already spoken for.”

Zayn grunts, hopes Louis hears him and knows he doesn’t appreciate the comment. Like, fuck, it’s not Zayn’s fault his soulmate clock is broken. Or that he’s not interested enough to find anyone else to date. So, like, that’s a bit Zayn’s fault, but he didn’t _mean_ to, is the point. He drops some fish food into the bowl for Nemo, pours himself some coffee from the pot that’s only sort-of still warm, then plops down on the couch.

“What happened last night? I don’t remember much, like…” Zayn trails off and takes a sip of coffee, shuts his eyes at the light streaming into the living room. He didn’t remember drinking that much. Maybe their default place to hang out shouldn’t be at a bar anymore. Zayn’s getting too old for this.

“My night was fine. But yours? Uh, hmm, let’s see. You told Niall you loved him. That you _still_ loved him, actually, I think Niall said. You were properly slurring drunk when you left. Like, _Niall had to help you walk_ drunk,” Louis says, ticking them off on his fingers before shoving a handful of chips into his mouth, as if Zayn’s dignity isn’t diminishing with every word.

“Fucking fantastic.” Zayn reaches over, trying to steal some chips and will the heat away from his face, but Louis moves the bag out of his reach. It’s shitty of him, really; Zayn’s trying to eat his feelings and ignore how he suddenly feels like passing out with how anxious he’s gotten so quickly.

“You know what? No. You don’t get chips, because you’re an idiot.”

Zayn sighs and slumps back into the armrest of the couch, lungs feeling so tight it’s almost painful. “What now?”

Louis glares at him, takes some more chips for himself before he responds—just because he can, probably. “We’ve been trying to get you to talk to Niall and you’ve been _awful_ at communicating. You have to stop being such a chickenshit. You two keep talking but not actually resolving anything, and you end up more confused than you were before. And I _know_ all this because you’re fucking moping about it all the time. So, no. No chips for you.”

“You keep _forcing_ me to talk to Niall when I’m not ready to talk,” Zayn protests. “And then you leave us alone and I don’t know what to say, and then that fucks everything up. I know you guys are trying to help, and like, thanks, I guess. But it’s not working. Please let me do this at my own pace for _once,_ Louis.”

Somehow, Louis manages to look guilty and indignant at the same time. “Well you should have said that you weren’t prepared earlier. We could have helped, or something.”

“It was _very_ heavily implied. For someone who complains about how dense our friends are, you’re pretty fucking dense.”

Louis frowns, shoves the bag of chips into Zayn’s chest. “Well, Niall’s going to be here soon, so. Get over it one last time, then I promise I’ll stop.”

For the love of _God._ Zayn needs new friends. “Can’t you cancel?”

“I would never cancel on my Nialler. I hang out with him more than you these days. Bro, you’re seriously turning into a shut in.” Louis nudges Zayn’s knee with his toes. “Seriously, though. Like, I have a good feeling this time. Or, well, I know what he wants to talk about, I think. But Niall should really be the one to tell you.”

Zayn pauses mid-chew.

“And you’d know this weeks ago if you, like, actually talked to him properly for once.”

“What the fuck? And you didn’t tell me this earlier? How nice of you,” Zayn says, mumbling through his mouthful of chips. His stomach feels like it’s dropped down through the couch; Maybe if he hopes hard enough, _he’ll_ drop through the couch.

“Not like you’ve been around much, bro. Oh, and also we didn’t tell him about your counter being fucked up. Just a heads up.”

Zayn sighs, tips his head back onto the arm of the couch. “Can you at least leave, then? Like, don’t need to embarrass myself in front of more people than I need to.”

“That’s just tempting me to stay, but fine,” Louis says. He leans over to squeeze Zayn’s shoulder before he gets up. “Call me or Harry if you need anything. I’ll be at El’s but Harry said he’d drop everything if you needed, probably because he’s out with his soulmate and still doesn’t know her name. Yeah, so maybe call him first, save him from humiliation. Niall will be here around three.”

“Great.” Zayn shuts his eyes again. “Can you text Niall to just come in when he gets here? Leave the door unlocked.”

There’s scuffling as Louis presumably gets ready to brave the winter. “Will do.”

The door opens with the same horrible cracking noise it always does, and Zayn buries his face further into the couch. “And pick up some more milk on the way home!” It bangs shut and Zayn figures he’ll be eating dry cereal tomorrow.

 

****

 

When Zayn opens his eyes next, the anxious knot in his stomach is still tight and Niall is trying to carefully take the chip bag out of Zayn’s hands.

“Shit, sorry,” Zayn says, sitting up and letting Niall grab the bag of chips. “Have you been here long?”

Niall shakes his head no, already on his second mouthful of chips as he plops down cross-legged on the coffee table. Zayn tucks his legs up to his chest, feeling his stomach swoop just looking at Niall. There are still sleep crusties in Zayn’s eyes and he rubs at them with his thumbs.

“You’re adorable when you’re sleepy,” Niall says. Casual, popping another chip into his mouth with a wide grin. “Adorable when you blush, too.”

“Shut up,” Zayn says, forcing out a laugh. God, why does Zayn never know where they stand? _Because you’re shit at talking about things when you’re upset,_ Zayn thinks. “Not adorable.”

Niall scoffs and rolls his eyes, waving his hand around in dismissal, and Zayn feels his cheeks going warmer.

“So, uh. How have you been?” Zayn asks.

The look Niall gives him has Zayn tucking himself further back into the corner of the couch. There’s no way he’s getting out of this conversation, but it’s probably about time they had it anyways, since Zayn has been avoiding Niall for the better part of the past month.

“Please don’t do this again, Zayn.” Niall sighs, puts the bag down and scrubs his hands down his face. “Like, changing the subject. I know shit’s, like, a bit fucked up, but we have to talk about it.”

“I know. I’m not trying to avoid it anymore. I’m sorry about that, and about _this_ in general,” Zayn says, making a weak all-encompassing gesture with his hand. His mind has gone blank and there’s a lump in his throat. Niall’s looking at him, all sad and tired. Everything Zayn doesn’t want him to be feeling, especially because of him. Still, after all this time, he manages to be everything Zayn wants.

Niall nods at him. “I know. Like, I get it. But I’d rather have weirdly talked than have you avoid me. It really fucking hurts.” Niall looks down, grimacing like he’s embarrassed about it.

He feels horrible, having Niall share all his feelings while Zayn sits cowering quietly in the corner. “I just… didn’t get it. Still don’t, really,” Zayn sighs. “And I feel, like, I was trying to give myself space, but it didn’t really work out that well. Then I got… confused, again, and didn’t want to feel worse, and tried to give _you_ space, but—”

Zayn cuts himself off with a sigh, and Niall gives him a sad smile. “I kinda fucked this up, didn’t I?” Zayn continues.

Niall, surprisingly, shakes his head. “Nah. It was awkward, but salvageable.”

Zayn’s heart gives a weird stutter. “Nice vocab,” he chokes out after a few seconds of silence.

Thankfully, Niall chuckles and trails off in a hum. Zayn watches Niall’s fingers trace the grain of the coffee table. It’s kind of calming, helping Zayn try to slow his breathing back down to normal. Niall trails his fingers over the wood, twirls and swooping motions, and Zayn breathes out the heaviness settling in his lungs.

“Bressie and I aren’t together.”

So much for that. Zayn feels his heart stop, falter and restart again. “Wait, what? Why— you’re soulmates, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re soulmates. Just, not… I dunno. We click, but not in that way, really. Love him, but, y’know,” Niall says with a shrug, and Zayn definitely does _not_ know. Niall can shrug about this? And no one smacked sense into Zayn long enough for Niall to tell him about it?

“I don’t… When did that, like. When did you know that was a thing?” Zayn’s not speaking in complete sentences, his brain stumbling and tripping over words, skipping like a scratched record.

Soulmates pretty much always ended up in committed relationships of some sort, with very few exceptions from what Zayn’s read. Zayn’s mind helpfully spits out a million different possibilities— _Bressie isn’t into relationships? Niall isn’t? One of them is, like, a criminal of some sort?_ —but can’t settle on one.

“We gave it a try, of course. Like, went on a few dates, tried some, uh…” Niall laughs, and Zayn clocks the blush spreading up his neck immediately. “Tried to go on like, actual dates, kiss or whatever. Tried to see how we’d be a couple, but, like. It’s weird, yeah? Like we’re so similar and he’s great, really, but like a best friend kind of great. Not all soulmates are romantic, you know, but being fated to find your best friend doesn’t sell as many movies.”

“Right,” Zayn says slowly.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you, to be honest. How being with you made me feel.”

And if Zayn felt a bit speechless before, he’s definitely at a loss for words now. He can’t tear his eyes away from Niall: the hair he dyed blonde because Zayn said he liked it; his earnest eyes; his gentle smile; the way he’s picking aggressively at his nails, now. Zayn’s suddenly very aware of his own mouth, hanging ever so slightly open, and snaps it shut, waits for Niall to continue as his skin tingles and goes warm all over.

“I don’t know. Like, the world might not have conspired for us to be each other’s soulmates, but I feel so _good_ around you. I think we were meant to be in each other’s lives, if that makes sense.” Niall chokes out another helpless laugh. “And, like, I kind of really want you to be in my life _this_ way. In the dating, relationship way, if you’ll have me. I don’t know about your counter, um, it was pretty close to mine last time we checked, but I haven’t seen you with anyone—”

“It broke. Like, it broke the day I left you at the coffee shop,” Zayn says. His voice is croaky, hardly above a whisper, but Niall still stops abruptly, looking up at Zayn with wide eyes. Zayn shifts so he can roll up his sleeve. _00:00:25:45_ stares back at him in all black. Niall reaches forward and grabs Zayn’s elbow and wrist with gentle hands.

“Oh my God,” Niall says, sounding equally shocked and horrified. “Did you— how did this happen?”

Part of Zayn wants to tug his arm back and retreat into himself, but he can’t with Niall holding him still like this. His hands are warm, and he’s tracing over the numbers carefully with his pointer finger. Reminding himself of Niall’s openness and honesty, Zayn forces himself to shove down his fear of judgment and rejection and answers.

“Don’t know. Like, I looked at it when I got home, and the time didn’t add up right. I should have met them between the time I left the coffee shop and the time I got home, but… It just stopped. And then it went black and I don’t know why.” Zayn shrugs, careful not to jostle Niall’s grip, just in case he’d pull back. “Have theories but, like. Don’t think I’ll ever really know for sure.”

“Are you okay? I mean, now, what do you think?”

“At first, like, clearly I wasn’t. It was a lot of shit at once and I got overwhelmed,” Zayn says. “But I got to thinking more about it, and I don’t think my clock accounted for me leaving the coffee shop when I did. Or that that would make me leave town to see my family right after, maybe. Think I blew my shot.” Zayn breathes out a laugh, and is surprised to find that it doesn’t tear him apart as badly as it did.

Niall looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed and confused. Still, he doesn’t let go of Zayn’s arm. “There’s almost nothing the clocks don’t take into account that close to zero,” Niall says, almost sputtering. Zayn watches as Niall shakes his head a bit, as his mouth moves as if to start talking but ends up snapping shut quietly.

And Zayn summons up some courage, closes his eyes when he says, “I don’t think it saw you coming. Don’t think fate saw me falling for you as hard as I did.”

Niall inhales sharply, and Zayn doesn’t know if it’s in a good or bad way, so he keeps his eyes shut and continues. “Thought I fucked it up, earlier, because I liked you so much. But just because it’s not in the counter doesn’t mean the universe didn’t want it to happen. Doesn’t mean either of us did anything wrong or that we’re going down the wrong path. Just because something blindsided the system doesn’t mean it should be tossed away, right?”

Niall doesn’t say anything, now, and Zayn cracks one eye open to look at him. He’s nodding, looking breathless and beautiful, still sitting on the coffee table. “Um, and _love?_ You were serious about that, the other night?” Niall sounds shy, but hopeful.

“I was going to tell you,” Zayn sighs. “That day in the coffee shop. I was trying to hype myself up to tell you I loved you. Don’t know what I was trying to accomplish, since I don’t know how we’d run away from the system, but I wanted to try, with you. Then Bressie showed up, of course, and I figured it’d be shitty of me to ask you to run away from fate or whatever after that, so I didn’t.”

Carefully unfolding his legs, Niall shifts so he’s leaning in closer to Zayn. “Thought you didn’t like me like that anymore,” he says. He’s holding Zayn’s wrist with both hands now, rubbing at Zayn’s palm with his thumbs. “Knew you liked me before, but figured when you came back from your break you got over it.

“After Bressie and I figured we wouldn’t work out, I thought that I would be chilling on my own for the rest of my life, or whatever. And I’m fine with that, like, I don’t think I need a partner in my life to be happy. But last night you said you still loved me, and it really hit me, then, that I couldn’t let you go without trying. Owed it to myself, at least. Because I don’t _need_ someone, but I’d really like if you could be here with me.”

Zayn breathes out in a rush. It’s all a lot at once. “I was disappointed when I met you at open mic night and you weren’t my soulmate,” Zayn admits, when he can’t find the right response to what Niall’s said. “Started liking you on Lou and El’s first date.”

Niall smiles at him, shining bright, and Zayn’s ribs stop feeling like they’re going to cave in on him. “I liked you then, too. You’re like, fucking gorgeous. Dunno if I’ve told you that, but I always thought you were, from the start. Then got to know you and you’re, like, really cute.”

He can’t help but grin back at Niall, tugs at Niall by the wrist Niall’s still holding to pull him next to Zayn on the couch. Niall goes happily, flopping down and turning so his entire body is facing Zayn, tucking his toes under the arches of Zayn’s feet.

“Cute?”

Just shrugging in response, Niall hums and pokes his finger through a hole in Zayn’s shirt near his shoulder.

“Are you mad at me?”

Zayn can feel his face scrunching up, already shaking his head, but Niall quickly continues. “No, sorry, I know you’re not mad at me. But are you, like, upset that all this with us screwed up your chances with your soulmate? Like in some alternate world we wouldn’t be close but we’d both be happy with our soulmates, probably, y’know?”

Niall’s finger moves from Zayn’s collarbone up to his face. He presses his thumb lightly to where Zayn’s lips are turned down.

“I can’t imagine any universe where I wouldn’t love you, especially not this one,” Zayn mumbles, acutely aware of Niall’s thumb lightly skating back and forth just under his lip. “Or even, like, a world where I didn’t meet you at all. I don’t want to think of that world. Sounds like shit, to be honest.”

Niall barks out a laugh, finger twitching when Zayn’s expression turns into a grin. “It does sound like shit. And for the record, I don’t want to be with anyone else. Even if the smartest inventors and scientists in the _world_ look at the numbers on our arms and don’t think we’re right.”

“I really do think it’s, y’know, fate,” Zayn says. He feels cheesy just saying it, but Niall hasn’t laughed at his expense yet. “Our best friends are soulmates, and that helped, of course, but we run into each other all the time. It’s like any time I’m having a bad day, or when I want someone to share something with… there you are.”

Niall smiles. “Here I am, yeah?” Zayn can only manage a nod in return before Niall’s leaning in to pull at Zayn’s shirt again. This time, he smacks a quick kiss to his collar, then moves up so their noses are almost touching.

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes.

They’re so close, Zayn can see all of Niall’s eyelashes, how his eyes are minutely darting around so he can take all of Zayn in. Zayn turns a bit, so they’re both fully facing each other, and nudges his nose against Niall’s, takes a second just to breathe, just to take it all in.

“C’mon, then,” Niall laughs, knocking his nose into Zayn’s cheek.

Zayn huffs, closes the gap and thinks that for how complicated their relationship has been, _this_ feels like the easiest thing in the world. The anxiety that’s been at a low simmer ever since he met Niall and their clocks kept going finally calms and dissipates. He kisses Niall and feels both like he’s going to buzz out of his body and like he’s never been more at home in himself. There’s no way, Zayn thinks, that he’d want to be in any other world.

Probably hearing all of Zayn’s thoughts loud and clear, Niall makes a noise like a stifled laugh and presses in closer. “You’re distracted,” Niall mumbles, hardly audible for how close they are. He bites lightly at Zayn’s lip, just once, and Zayn suppresses a huff of laughter. He still can’t believe this is happening, honestly.

“Can’t believe you’re real right now,” Zayn says when Niall shifts and starts pressing kisses along his cheek.

Niall moves them, then, gently nudging and pulling until they’re both lying on their sides on the couch, Niall’s arms wrapped around Zayn’s middle to keep him from falling off.

“Dunno what you mean. This is the realest I’ve ever felt.” And Niall’s voice has that lilt to it that makes Zayn think that he’s joking, but Niall’s looking at him like he’s all the stars in the sky—the way Zayn’s caught him looking a few times, but had shoved away because they couldn’t happen, then.

“Yeah, I’m just. Overwhelmed,” Zayn says. “I’ve thought about this so much, and it felt light years away, so now I’m kinda waiting to snap out of it.”

Niall trails his fingers softly over Zayn’s lips, cups his cheek in his palm. “I’m sorry. I just thought I was doing what’s best, trying to stop us from both getting hurt. Happened anyways, and I probably made it worse, like—”

Zayn shakes his head, puts his own hand over Niall’s. “Stop. I get it. You were trying to protect our feelings and it didn’t work out that way. I appreciate the effort, but we’re here now, and we’re okay. So, I’d really like it if you kissed me again, or something. Considering we’ve spent months _not_ kissing.”

“Can do,” Niall says, and when he kisses Zayn again, he’s smiling right into it. “You have work in an hour.”

Groaning, “Shut _up,_ Niall, oh my God,” Zayn bites Niall’s lip this time, pushes Niall further into the back of the couch.

Somehow, with just a few seconds of just their lips pressed together, Niall’s arms looping up to hold Zayn’s shoulders with his hands, Zayn feels frantic again. The buzzing under his skin is back, and Zayn feels like he needs to be bigger, needs to be so he can feel more of Niall, hold on tight and feel as much of Niall as Niall will give him. In the back of his head, Zayn knows they have time—deliberately not thinking about how he has to leave for work in less than an hour—but it’s overwhelming, how badly Zayn wants to get to know Niall like this. Warm and familiar as always, but closer now, more open and a bit _more_ in general. The want crashes over Zayn like a wave.

“Shh, Zayn,” Niall says, pushes his face into Zayn’s shoulder so they can both take a moment to breathe. “Another time, yeah? We have all the time in the world, later.”

Zayn still feels buzzy, blood feeling like it’s vibrating through his veins, and even breathing out heavily doesn’t expel it. With a hand on the side of Zayn’s neck, Niall seems to sense it. He flips them again, carefully in the small space on the couch, until he’s above Zayn, pressing him down into the cushions.

“I feel the same,” Niall says, a bit out of breath. Then, he leans back down again, a warm weight on Zayn’s chest. When he kisses Zayn again, Niall grabs his hands and presses both their forearms into the cushions up by Zayn’s shoulders. And it’s better, Zayn thinks, practically sighing into Niall’s mouth. It grounds him, stops him from feeling like he’ll float up and away with all the energy and light under his skin.

“Better?”

Zayn nods, grins when Niall ducks down to kiss him again. Niall spends ages pressed against Zayn’s mouth, biting and licking at his lips, lingering whenever Zayn unconsciously makes a noise in the back of his throat. When Zayn’s mouth feels red, warm and soft, Niall moves, kisses Zayn’s nose and his closed eyelids before moving to just under his chin and along his jaw.

Lightly kissing behind Zayn’s ear before trailing down, Niall hums. “It okay if I give you something to take to work?” He presses his lips to a spot a bit above Zayn’s collarbone, nips lightly in clarification before pulling back to look at Zayn’s face.

And Zayn can only nod, pull Niall in for a quick kiss to his lips before letting Niall move back to the skin on his neck. “Only if I can return the favour, yeah?”

“Like I’d say no to that,” Niall murmurs. When Zayn groans a bit, he feels Niall’s teeth, his mouth stretched in another smile, and can’t help but laugh breathlessly. Zayn _really_ wishes he hadn’t used all his fucking sick days.

“God, I can’t believe you have to leave in a few. Could kiss you for ages,” Niall says, pulling Zayn’s shirt at the neck so he can press his mouth to Zayn’s shoulder.

“Later,” Zayn says, putting his hand on Niall’s cheek to bring him back up to eye level. “My turn, now. Or, your turn? I don’t know, just come here.”

Niall laughs. “I dunno, you aren’t asking very nicely, but yeah, ‘kay. But be careful; I bruise easy,” he says, but bares his neck anyways.

On his way out, Niall kisses Zayn goodbye, soft and gentle like all of Zayn’s mushy feelings, and it feels promising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this fic, the only things I knew I was going to include were the Bressie/Niall scene, the scene where Zayn's clock stops, and this part where Zayn talks about fate and their universe. So, I'm glad people can read it now because it's one of the most important things in this fic to me, tbh. It's very close to my sappy heart aha.
> 
> Anyways! Shoutout to Lex for dealing with me messaging her in all caps panicking about this chapter lmao. 
> 
> There should be just one or two more chapters after this! Thanks for reading as always, let me know your thoughts, and I hope you all had a good holiday season if you celebrated/are celebrating, and have a happy new year!! <3


	9. 78 days after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so first things first, I’ve changed the rating of this from teen to mature. I wasn’t sure initially if I would be able to write mature content for this but… clearly I have. A minor miracle tbh. (Spoiler: they have sex.) 
> 
> As always, thank you to my amazing friends who looked this over for me, Lex and Zane.

“Later” doesn’t come as quickly as Zayn was hoping it would. When he was still very adamantly avoiding Niall by coming up with any excuse to not spend time with his friends, he took a huge handful of shifts at work. He spends most of his time working, and the little time he has leftover doesn’t fit into Niall’s schedule.

It’s frustrating, but Niall still texts him almost every day, so Zayn’s at least sure Niall won’t change his mind in the time it’ll take before their free time lines up.

 

****

 

 **_Niall:_ ** _u free thurs around 3?_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _no :/ Harry is dragging me out to do some run with him fml_

 **_Niall:_ ** _hah pleas dont die before we can go on a date ! i’d b shattered_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _wouldnt dream of it. Gna hide in the bushes for an hour until Harry finishes lol_

 **_Niall:_ ** _smart man !_

 

****

 

 **_Zayn:_ ** _come to an art show w me tonight ? promise i can make it worth ur while ;)_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _Niall?_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _Niiiiiaaaaaaallllllllllllll_

 **_Niall:_ ** _sorry bro ! stayed late at work n didnt see ur texts til now ! hope im not waking u up_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _its ok u didnt wake me.. next time !_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _and dont call me bro when iv had my tongue in ur mouth_

 

****

 

 **_Niall:_ ** _hb next friday , wanna chill ? no lads night yeh ?_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _Lou wants me to help him plan smth for El tha night nd he’d kill me if i bailed_

 **_Niall:_ ** _:(_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _:((((_

 

_****_

 

“Oh, dude, have you and Niall _still_ not gone on a date?”

Zayn grumbles, glares at the bubbles in his drink before taking another sip. _“No,_ we haven’t. I took all these fuckin’ shifts at work, and Niall’s all busy doing all the stat stuff he does, and we haven’t found a time for it yet.”

Liam hums sympathetically, patting at Zayn’s shoulder before taking a gulp of his own drink. “Where’s he right now?”

“Work,” Zayn says. There’s definitely a pout on his face; he can feel it. Niall had texted last minute that he got held up, couldn’t hang out with them this Friday. They were planning on watching _Stranger Things_ together—Louis has seen it, the rest of them haven’t—but it didn’t feel right starting without Niall, so Louis and Harry went out with their respective soulmates and Liam and Zayn went to the bar.

“Why don’t you do something next Friday? Like we cancelled the guys night next week so there’s, like, some time there, right?”

Before Liam’s even finished, Zayn’s already shaking his head. “No. Louis is planning this thing for his and El’s anniversary, or something, and he wants me to go with him to get a gift and then help with planning. He’d kill me.”

“He knows how you feel about Niall though, right? Surely he wouldn’t be _that_ mad.”

Zayn gives Liam a look, watching as a grin starts tugging at his lips. “Okay, how ‘bout this,” Liam starts, drumming his fingers on the bar. “I’ll go with Louis instead. So, like, even though you’re leaving him, you won’t be leaving him alone.”

“Really? You’re not busy?”

Shaking his head, Liam grins at him, all bright and crinkly, and Zayn would kiss him if the thought of kissing Liam didn’t settle wrong. If he hadn’t been thinking about kissing someone else for the better part of the past year.

“God, thanks, Li. I owe you one,” Zayn says, feeling his own face split into a smile. He swivels on his stool to motion to the bartender. “Another rum and coke, please,” turning back to Liam, “on me.”

Liam rolls his eyes, shoves lightly at Zayn’s shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll make sure not to tell Louis that you think a night with him costs seven dollars plus tip.”

Zayn raises his glass to him. “You’re a good man, Liam.”

The sound of Zayn’s phone buzzing on the countertop is almost drowned out by the noise of the bar paired with that of Liam’s laugh. Zayn’s heart jumps when he sees that the message is from Niall, and then settles warm in his chest when he sees the text itself.

 **_Niall:_ ** _fuckin miss you so much. this isnt fuckin fair ! been too long since iv seen ur face !!!_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _wha, you JUST miss my face? Didnt kno u just liked me for my looks :/_

 **_Niall:_ ** _just in this for ur eyelashes honestly. theyr really nice to look at ! srry u had to find out ths way :(_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _whatta shame . just when i freed up my friday as well_

 **_Niall:_ ** _zayn_

 **_Niall:_ ** _Zayn wait are u serious ? like u can go out with me on friday?_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _hm, thats funny bc dont remember being formally asked out on a date…_

 **_Niall:_ ** _good bc i didnt ask u on one. was thinkin u could help me get a head start on my taxes_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _fucker._

“Awww,” Liam says. It startles Zayn a bit, making him jump. “How cute.”

 **_Niall:_ ** _mmm planning on that actually if thats cool. wanna see all ur tattoos_

“Less awww,” Liam laughs, leaning away again. At least he’s not leering over Zayn’s shoulder anymore. God. “That’s not as cute.”

“I think it’s cute,” Zayn says. He feels giddy, happy butterflies filling his stomach like he’s sixteen again. The main differences, he thinks, are the tattoos, the fact that he can grow a beard now, and that Liam doesn’t blush fiercely at any mention of his friends’ sex lives. Zayn’ll keep the butterflies.

 **_Zayn:_ ** _def cool. wanted u to see them for a while now_

 **_Niall:_ ** _glad i can be of service ;)_

“You grinning like that is less endearing now that I know what you’re grinning about.”

“Shut up,” Zayn laughs, flicks Liam’s ear. Still, he turns back to his phone and sends Niall back a text that’s just row after row of smiley face emojis.

 

****

 

Zayn is woken up on one of his only days off that week—at an ungodly hour, he notes grumpily—by loud knocking on the door. Louis and Harry are both at work, because it’s a _Monday,_ so it’s up to Zayn to answer, apparently, since the knocker doesn’t give up after two minutes. Resigned, Zayn yells out an _I’m coming, hold on!_ before wrapping his blanket around his shoulders like a cape and trudging out of his bedroom.

The door is a million times harder to open with how tired he is, but after a few tries Zayn manages to wrench it open. Before he can blink away the bleariness in his eyes, before it even registers in his head the person standing in his doorway, he’s pushed backwards, quickly but carefully, until his back is against the wall.

“I know it’s early, I’m sorry, but I’m busy after work and I couldn’t wait any longer.” Then, Niall’s pressing their lips together, soft and urgent, too quickly pulling away again. “God, I really have to go, but do you want to go on a date with me on Friday?”

Zayn blinks hard, hardly refrains from smacking himself in the face in an attempt to root himself in the present moment, to take in Niall—flustered and bright and in a _suit_ that fits him so perfectly, _fuck—_ standing in front of him. He has to reach up, grip the sides of Niall’s neck lightly in his hands. Niall’s so rushed that Zayn wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t wait for an answer and bolted out the door.

“You’re crazy,” Zayn says, laughing breathlessly, because _really._ “I _know_ we’re going on a date on Friday. It’s already established. Don’t have to make yourself late; I was just kidding when we were texting, yeah?”

“I know, I know,” Niall chuckles, kissing Zayn’s nose, forehead, cheeks, then his lips in quick succession. His hands have moved to cover Zayn’s, tracing his fingers lightly around the rings Zayn forgot to take off the night before. _Wake up, wake up, wake up,_ Zayn thinks to himself. “Still wanted to do it properly. Asking someone out over text isn’t as special. Besides, I told you I missed your face.”

“You’re trying to sweet talk me, but I’m thinking of cancelling that date, now that you’ve woken me up at six thirty on my day off, you asshole. Need more than words to make up for that.”

“The faster you say yes, the faster I can leave and you can get back to sleep.”

Zayn hums, tapping lightly at his chin as if in thought. “Dunno if I want to let you leave, now. Think making you late for work would make me feel a bit better, like…”

 _“Zayn,”_ Niall says, exasperated but still sounding a moment away from cracking up laughing.

“Fine, fine,” Zayn says. “Yes, you can take me on a date this Friday night.”

Before Niall can run off again, Zayn tugs him in with the hands he has on Niall’s shoulders. The kiss is softer, slower, and Zayn thinks he would melt into it if he could. Niall seems to very quickly forget that he’s in a rush—Zayn feels a bit smug about it, not that he’d mention that—sliding his hands up and down Zayn’s sides and pulling until they’re more pressed together than not. He sighs, kisses his way down Zayn’s jaw, then his neck, then back up again to his mouth.

“I really do need to go,” Niall mumbles. His teeth bite at Zayn’s lower lip before he’s tracing his tongue over the indents, and when Zayn gasps a bit, he feels Niall’s hands flexing where they’re spread on his back.

“Yeah, really looks like it. I can tell you’re really focused on getting to work.” Zayn grins, finds the strength to pull back. He smooths his hands over Niall’s jacket. “Wear a suit Friday?”

“Dunno if the date is going to be suit-appropriate,” Niall says, hands moving to hold Zayn’s. “Why, you like it?”

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “Would like seeing you take it off.”

Niall scrunches his eyes, shut, tilting his head up to the ceiling. “God, you’re going to be the death of me. I can tell.”

All Zayn can do is smile. This is, like, definitely the happiest he’s been this early in the morning.

“I really _do_ need to go to work,” Niall says. It’s beginning to sound like he’s trying to convince himself more than he is Zayn.

“Yeah, stupid. You do. Don’t know why you thought this was a good time to come over but, like, I’m glad you did.”

Niall smiles at him, squeezes Zayn’s hands but doesn’t move to let go. The clock, as Zayn reads over Niall’s shoulder, reads 6:45, and Zayn knows Niall has to be at work by seven. Zayn untangles their fingers, then slips one of his chunky rings onto Niall’s middle finger. It makes Niall look up, eyes gone soft.

“Now, go before you’re late. That’s one of my favourites, so don’t lose it. Text me later, yeah?”

With one last kiss—that Zayn pulls away from before it can linger and guarantee that Niall’s late—Niall gives him a little salute, then bolts out the door and down the steps. Zayn watches him sprint to his car, waves back at Niall when he sticks his hand out the window in goodbye.

And he can’t quite fall back asleep again, but Zayn can’t bring himself to mind too much.

 

****

 

 **_Niall:_ ** _fine ill wear a suit bt only if u dress up too yeh?_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _was planning on wearing like these robot arms iv got tho_

 **_Niall:_ ** _what like iron man?_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _mmm kinda bt not rly_

 **_Niall:_ ** _where we r going it would b prob better if u didnt wear the robot arms .. pls dress up?_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _fine its a deal. do i get to know where we r going?_

 **_Niall:_ ** _nope u do not ! k have to go back to work bye :)_

 

****

 

“Do you think he’d like the black or the white more, with this coat?”

Louis sighs loudly, but doesn’t bother turning his head to look at the shirts Zayn is holding up. “Don’t think Niall cares, bro.”

“Black looks good with it,” Liam offers. He shoves at Louis, where he’s laying spread-eagle on Zayn’s bed. “I mean, either is good, but I think black, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. It’s automatic, though, his mind already racing forwards. Maybe black on black on black is too boring? Does Niall not want him to be boring? The colour of his shirt won’t _really_ affect the date, will it? Zayn’s in the mood for some wine, though, and the black shirt would be the safer bet.

…Should he wear some colourful rings or something since everything else is dark, then?

“I can _hear_ you overthinking from over here. Jesus Christ. You could wear that shirt you have with all the holes at the top and Niall probably wouldn’t notice.”

“He _asked_ me to dress formal. We’re both going to,” Zayn says. He’s almost whining, now, but he only has about fifteen minutes before Niall shows up and he’s wasted just under an hour tearing through his closet.

“Shut up if you’re going to be unhelpful. Zayn, wear the black one,” Liam says. This time, when he pushes at Louis’ chest, it’s strong enough that it makes him scramble not to fall off the side. Zayn’s really thankful for Liam.

Zayn nods and pulls the shirt on, mind still racing too fast for him to fully process a single thought. He turns back to rummage through his drawers, almost groaning out loud when he sees a bunch of his chains are tangled together.

“Are we still needed, or can second-choice here and I go?”

“You’re being pretty rude for someone who needs my help for the rest of the night. I could always see if Harry wanted to go instead—”

“No! Christ, don’t. I’m sorry,” Louis backtracks, flipping over so that he can reach Liam’s wrist and hold on with an iron grip. “I need to get candles, and I’d be in the store for _hours_ if I was with him. Harry’s so fucking unhelpful, I would rather bring one of the lamps. Liam, don’t you _dare_ ditch me.”

Liam just rolls his eyes, patting lightly at Louis’ hand. “Buy me coffee and I won’t complain.”

Zayn tugs at the chains, can’t hold back the happy noise that buzzes in the back of his throat when two of them come free from the knot. He pulls them on—gold, because Zayn learned about colour theory and undertones once upon a time, and knows gold looks best even if he can pull off silver as well—and starts digging through his rings. The favourites are already on his fingers, except for the one that Niall still has, but he puts on a few more as well. Niall seemed to like them, and Zayn wants to try to have _some_ sort of advantage.

“Do your hair now or else you won’t be ready by the time he gets here.”

Zayn snorts, looks at his watch instead of at Liam. “Still have ten minutes. And, like, he won’t get here on the dot.”

“El said he likes to be punctual,” Louis says. “He could even be _early._ You two have a lot to get to know about each other, if he’s under the assumption that being late to shit isn’t one of your most dominant personality traits.”

“Rude.” Zayn flips Louis off and stalks into the bathroom. Not because he’s going to make him and Niall run late, just because he wants to.

Unfortunately, Zayn’s still fiddling with this piece of hair that will just _not fucking stay in place_ when someone pops their head around the corner.

“Just warning you, um, Niall’s here and Harry let him in. So, like…” Liam trails off and shrugs before disappearing back into the hallway.

“Shit, _shit_. Shit, _fuck,_ shit,” Zayn gets a bit more gel on his fingers, tries to tuck it under another chunk without just slicking his hair down against his skull.

Before he gets frustrated to the point of shoving his head under the sink and starting over from scratch, Zayn spots movement behind him in the mirror, then Niall’s fingers are gently twisting at his hair.

“I’ve never felt like we’re more alike than in this moment right now,” Niall says. He’s smiling wide and Zayn can hear it in his voice. “Like, you have no idea how long I spent on _my_ hair.”

Niall grabs at Zayn’s hips, gently moves him so his tailbone is pressed against the counter, hands braced on either side of the sink.

“You didn’t have to brag and, like, get it to cooperate on the first try,” Zayn says, gesturing to his own head.

Shrugging, Niall says, “Eh, just trying to impress you, really. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

Zayn pauses for a second to really take Niall in. The suit he’s wearing is the same one he wore on Monday, but he’s switched out the plain jacket for one with a subtle, dark pattern on the lapels. His hair is styled up like Zayn’s only seen him do when he’s doing shows—he didn’t even properly do his hair on their first double date with Louis and Eleanor, if Zayn remembers correctly. The idea of Niall getting all dressed up for him makes Zayn’s stomach swoop.

“Oh yeah?” Zayn says, pulling at Niall’s jacket so their noses almost knock together. “Like what?”

“Got someone to plant a kitten in a tree. Gonna save it.”

Zayn _ooh_ ’s, raises his eyebrows and watches in delight as Niall’s nose scrunches up with his laugh. “A man after my own heart.”

Not denying it, Niall smirks, leaning in to press a light kiss to Zayn’s cheekbone. When he runs his thumb across his face afterwards, Zayn can feel his own ring on the finger Niall’s resting against his jaw.

“You look perfect. Let’s go, yeah?”

 

****

 

Niall holds the door of his SUV open for Zayn, and when they see a cat on the sidewalk, Niall gasps and acts like he’s going to pull over. Zayn can’t help but laugh, smacking at Niall’s hand when he points out the window with an _I’ll save her!_ Niall just grabs Zayn’s fingers, and then they’re holding hands over the console.

Despite Zayn running late, they’re not actually late for the date Niall had planned.

“You see, I _told_ you to be ready at eight, but I want to be there by nine and the actual show starts at 9:15. So, like, if you were running late we could still get there early and get good spots. And we’re definitely going to be a bit early.”

Zayn hums, narrows his eyes slightly when he looks over at Niall. Still, Niall hasn’t given anything away, just giving him a wink back when they’re stopped at a light.

“Good spots for a show,” Zayn says, nodding at nothing before he lets his gaze wander back out the window, city lights looking blurry and runny through the rain splattering the car windows. Zayn really doesn’t have any idea where they’re going, and he’s not exactly sure where they are now, anyways, so he gives up trying to narrow down the possibilities. He figures he’d be fine just holding Niall’s hand and listening to the fuzzy radio in his warm SUV for an hour. If Zayn got to kiss him for a while, that’d be even better.

“And here we are,” Niall says not ten minutes later, pulling into a parking lot.

Zayn stays quiet, gets out of the car with Niall, holds the umbrella over them both while Niall pays for parking at the machine. Looking up at the building before them, he can’t help the little frown of confusion that tugs on his lips.

“Just give me one second and I’ll explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Why we’re at a science center right now. I know you, Zayn. Can tell you’re, like, overthinking everything,” Niall says quietly, running his thumb along Zayn’s jaw. “Relax, yeah? This isn’t like an educational trip or anything. It’ll be fun.”

He leans forward and presses their lips together lightly. Under the umbrella with the rain falling around them, it feels like they’re in their own world, noise fading. The warmth there melts the tension in Zayn’s shoulders. No matter how science-y whatever they’re watching or doing is, it’s still Niall, and Niall wouldn’t throw him into the deep end.

“Okay,” Zayn says. He holds Niall’s hand in his hand not clutching the umbrella, and pressed together, they make their way towards the entrance.

 

****

 

They’re laying on the floor of the science centre, hands clasped between them, in their suits.

“It’s called the laser dome, yeah? Like, the show’s an hour-ish, and they feature different artists on different days at different times. It’s pretty much like a choreographed laser light show for different music. Been here once before, when they did one for Lady Gaga, and it was fuckin unreal.”

“Think we’re overdressed,” Zayn mumbles once Niall’s trailed off.

Niall laughs, a loud chortle that causes the couple a few feet away from them to look over. “You _wanted_ me to be overdressed! Got you to get all dolled up, too, so I wouldn’t be the only one.”

 _“Or_ you could have just told me it’d be better to dress casual,” Zayn says, nudging Niall’s shoulder.

“Nah. I couldn’t say no to you once you asked me to wear a suit with that _look_ on your face,” Niall hums, twists the ring on Zayn’s pointer finger. “And I hadn’t seen you all sharp dressed and whatnot. Wanted to.”

Zayn nods, looks up and around at the massive screen. “Right. So which artist is this, then?”

“Pink Floyd. _The Dark Side of the Moon,_ to be more specific.” Zayn startles, looks over at Niall. He doesn’t remember ever mentioning to Niall that he loves that album.

“How’d you know I like this album?”

Shrugging again, Niall turns over on his side, so he can reach across Zayn’s body and tap at the inside of his bicep. “The tattoo, here. Also knew you would probably like lasers, since, like, you’ve got a laser sword on your finger as well.”

“Lightsaber,” Zayn corrects, for lack of a better comment. He forgets, sometimes, that this goes both ways. That while Zayn notices a lot of little things about Niall, Niall’s noting things about him, as well. It’s unbearably sweet and thoughtful, and a wave of _I love you, I love you, I love you_ washes over Zayn, not for the first time.

Zayn’s about to lean over to kiss him—because now that he can, he figures he should definitely kiss Niall as much as possible—when the lights go out. There are a few kids in the room, and Zayn hears them gasp loudly and start cheering. Before the lasers start up, Zayn closes the space between them, and kisses Niall soundly.

“I just want you to know that I really like you,” he says, grinning into the darkness.

Zayn settles on his back again as the album begins to play and the first laser designs start drifting around the dome, but he doesn’t miss the way Niall’s looking at him—happy and a bit overwhelmed—just his smile and his bright eyes visible under the multi-coloured lights.

 

****

 

The laser show was amazing. The swirling patterns lit up the walls, movement in time with the sound of Pink Floyd filling the dome. That combined with Niall’s fingers around his wrist, pressed lightly against his pulsepoint, and the feeling that Niall was torn between looking at the lights or at him left Zayn buzzing. It was like pure, warm light was running through his bloodstream, and he felt overwhelmed by it, only grounded by Niall’s skin pressed to his.

“God, that was amazing. _You’re_ amazing. I loved it, thank you for bringing me here,” Zayn says. “But now you’ve raised the bar, and I need to figure out how to top that.”

Niall cackles, the sound bouncing around the foyer of the building. “Can’t wait.”

“So, what now? Did you wanna, like…” Zayn trails off, waving his hand around and up at the sky. It’s hard to not just go running down the sidewalk to burn off some of his energy. Instead, he settles for grabbing both of Niall’s hands and swinging their arms between them, walking backwards and trusting Niall not to let him walk into a lamppost or something.

Niall hums and extends their arms to the side for a moment to bring their bodies closer together. The kiss he presses to Zayn’s cheek has him grinning, feeling drunk despite the fact that he hasn’t drank anything tonight. Niall slows them down outside the science center, spins in a circle a few times before stopping.

“Well, I bought some rosé, because I know you like it, but there’s no obligation.” Niall shrugs. “I was planning on, like, going back to mine so we can have something to eat. Like, I can make pasta or we can order in. But if you wanted to go to a restaurant— I mean, it’s your date as well, so feel free to suggest—”

“Ordering in sounds good,” Zayn interrupts, smiling. Niall’s cheeks look a bit pink, so Zayn brings up their clasped hands so he can push against them. Niall tries to make a fishy face and Zayn can’t help laughing. “Sounds great, actually. I’d love to not go home.”

Niall raises his eyebrows, and Zayn coughs. “Louis and Harry are both home later tonight. They said they’d clear out even though I didn’t ask them to, but I think they were lying, anyways. I didn’t mean, like, staying over.”

And Niall just smiles at him, easy-going as ever. “I’m cool with either. It’s your call, but no pressure. We can just see where the night goes. I’m betting you fall asleep on my shoulder on the couch.”

Zayn shoves him, acting offended even though that sounds like a nice outcome. The SUV doesn’t take long to warm up, and they end up holding hands again as Niall drives them homeward.

 

****

 

They order pizza, and Niall orders half cheese and half mediterranean for Zayn without having to be reminded. Zayn fumbles a bit opening the bottle of rosé—the cap of it is weird, he’s _sure_ it is—but eventually he gets it open and pours some into two wine glasses that Zayn’s pretty sure _weren’t_ stolen from the Cheesecake Factory like some of his own were.

Turns out Niall also bought a trifle for them, so they scoop a bunch into a bowl and pass it back and forth while Zayn searches for music to listen to. It’s a bit quiet, but not uncomfortable. Zayn’s still trying to calm down from the show, honestly.

“So.”

Zayn looks up from his phone, thumb hovering over a playlist titled _chill R &B_. “Yeah?”

“You know I really like you too, right?” Niall’s looking at him, this grin on his face managing to be genuine and a bit smug at the same time. “Might really _really_ like you.”

“Mmm,” Zayn hums, looks down and taps around Spotify. He smiles to himself when Niall huffs faux-indignantly, and revels in the laugh that follows.

“Really? I mean I do love me some Carly Rae,” Niall says, “but that’s _so cheesy,_ Zayn.”

Zayn lets it keep playing in favour of bracing his hands on Niall’s criss-crossed knees and leaning in to press a kiss to his mouth. He grins. “You love when I’m cheesy.”

And Niall tugs him back in, bites at his lip like Zayn’s noticed he loves to do. “Not just cheesiness. You, mostly.”

Scrambling to put the nearly empty bowl of dessert onto the coffee table without dropping it, Zayn lets Niall push him back, then pull him in so his legs have to settle on either side of Niall’s hips.

“Just love _me,_ you mean?”

Niall’s tipped them so that Zayn’s on his back on the couch, and he mouths down Zayn’s neck, sucks a mark just above his collarbone before he says, “Maybe. We’ll see. I have, _mmm,_ a pretty good feeling though. Yeah?”

Zayn suppresses a groan, nods jerkily then tips Niall’s chin up to kiss him again.

It’s a bit of a mess, honestly, once they move to the bed. Niall can’t stop laughing, and Zayn laughs every time he says  _God, can you shut up for one second?_ When Zayn moans, Niall presses his chuckles into Zayn’s thigh—giddy because he didn’t think he’d get to do this, Niall said earlier with his hands tracing the tattoos on Zayn’s hips. He knocks his feet against Niall’s sides and breathes through it with a smile on his face, because Niall’s chatting away, _wow, look at you_ and _Jesus, don’t look at me like that or we’ll have to wait a few minutes._

For his loud laughter and smug grins, Niall moves surprisingly and borderline frustratingly slowly, and seems to be perfectly content to just watch Zayn fall apart under his hands.

“God, Niall, c’mon,” Zayn says breathlessly, after his leg’s kicked out and hit the footboard for the third time. “Unless you’re, like, planning on setting up camp?”

“Ooh, Malik’s got _jokes._ Might do, I mean. I like the view.” Niall kisses his knee when he pulls his hand back, and Zayn bites his own knuckle to stop the noise threatening to burst from his chest.

“Yeah, you’re not the only one, turns out,” Zayn says, reaching down to smack weakly against Niall’s shoulders. His chest is heaving, and he’d feel like he was maybe being too easy if Niall wasn’t looking at him with hazy, bright eyes and smearing his mouth along whatever part of Zayn’s skin is closest.

“Aw, a man after my own heart,” Niall says, following Zayn’s hands until he’s pressed on top of Zayn, a warm weight on his chest. “Just thought I’d take my time since you haven’t done this whole shebang.”

Zayn sighs, lets his head fall back against the pillows. It’s too much, sometimes, how sweet Niall is. Even when Zayn said he was good to go, Niall pressed his thumb to the little wrinkle between Zayn’s eyebrows with a frown. He looked so damn concerned, so intent on not hurting him that Zayn let him keep going, though not without a bit of grumbling.

“A few things,” Zayn says, twisting his fingers around in Niall’s hair—that’s still blonde, he notes happily. “One, please don’t call it a shebang. Two, I _have,_ just not this side of it. And three, thank you, but I swear to God if you don’t fuck me in the next few minutes, _I’m_ not going to be able to last. So, like…”

Niall laughs again, dropping his chin onto Zayn’s chest, and Zayn just shakes his head. Niall laughing during sex seems like a norm, at this point. It’s nice, and Zayn really doesn’t mind, but he likes to watch Niall get smug with it, likes when Niall grips him a little harder and holds him a little closer.

“Okay, yeah,” Niall says, patting his hip to get him to shift up.

He kisses Zayn through it, tangling his fingers with Zayn’s as the other grips his leg.

“It good?” Niall asks after a minute, sounding out of breath and a bit in awe. He’s stroking Zayn’s hip with his hand, trailing up all the way to his neck and circling around where Zayn knows he’s made a mark.

“Yeah, it’s good.” Zayn hums, wiggles down a bit just to watch Niall’s face scrunch up and the flush spread down his neck. “Ha. It’s really good, huh?”

Niall huffs, pinches Zayn’s shoulder between his fingers. “You’re… really something.”

Properly gripping Niall’s hair now, Zayn pulls him down so he can kiss him. Niall bites hard at Zayn’s lip when he moves, pressing his ankles into Niall’s back. Zayn traces Niall’s teeth with his tongue, listens as Niall’s breathing goes a bit ragged.

“Okay,” Zayn says, nudging their noses together. “Okay, yeah.”

It’s satisfying watching Niall lose his cool. Not that he was composed in the time preceding, but now his movements are more frantic. Though he’s still laughing through these moans that have Zayn licking further into his mouth. Niall glows in the dim lights of his bedroom, and Zayn can only hope he’s conveying as much love as he’s feeling for Niall as Niall’s showing on his face.

He really was hopeless from the start.

This part ends relatively quickly compared to how long it was built up, and Niall mouths along Zayn’s jaw as he’s coming down before he’s done himself. Zayn runs his fingers along Niall’s back, not feeling the need to move even though Niall’s a bit too warm on top of him. Niall smacks his own hand weakly against Zayn’s that he’d been holding, and Zayn snorts, grins as Niall mumbles _high fiiiiiive_ into his neck.

When Niall smiles up at him, it looks the same as it always has, and Zayn thinks maybe they were both bound to end up here, numbers aside.

“Big spoon?”

Zayn blinks up at him, once he’s come back in with a cloth and glasses of water. “You? Duh, of course you can be big spoon. Can I trust you not to steal the covers?”

Niall’s grin widens, and Zayn takes it as a _no_ but lifts the blanket up anyways. Niall kisses the back of his neck and falls asleep in a few minutes. It takes Zayn a bit longer, waiting for the happy energy to settle into a quieter hum, but he holds Niall’s hand where it’s resting over his stomach and drifts off a while after.

 

****

 

It turns out, Niall _does_ steal the covers, as Zayn wakes up twice in the night to fix them, but Niall makes a big breakfast in the morning and kisses him long and slow with Zayn’s back against the fridge, so Zayn's pretty forgiving.

“Hey,” Niall says. Zayn looks up, mouth full of pancake. “Last time I made you breakfast, you said we should move in together, so I could do it every day ‘if the soulmate thing didn’t work out.’ Remember?”

Zayn pauses in chewing, nods slowly.

“Think that’ll happen, one day,” Niall says, popping a raspberry into his mouth with a contemplative look on his face. “When we’re ready, I think I’d like that. Not now, though. For now I think we’re good as we are. I love spending time with you.”

Zayn smiles, gets up from the barstool so he can back Niall up against the refrigerator this time. Their mouths don’t quite fit together right for how wide Niall is smiling, but Zayn does his best, kisses Niall’s cheek where there’s a little dimple, sometimes.

“Ditto. And yeah, think I’d like that, too, one day.”

“We’ll see how it goes,” Niall says, finally calming down enough to kiss Zayn properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the last part of this written and pretty well ready to post, but I want to wait a little while. Mostly because I don't want this fic to come to an end yet. It'll probably be up within the next two or three days. Also, this is officially my longest work, so yay :)
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated!! Thanks for reading <3


	10. 255 days after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord. I can’t believe I’m actually done this fic. I know this last part isn’t super long, but it’s meant to be more of a wrap-up than another full-fledged chapter. I’m gonna save my long sappy notes for the end, but as always, thank you to Lex for looking this over for me.

“Why do we always end up at the bar?”

Zayn sighs, takes a long sip of his drink. “Because we’re boring and predictable. Next question.”

Louis grumbles and slouches further into the booth. His arms are folded, like he’s genuinely annoyed. Even though they’ve been coming to this same bar for years, so why Louis is choosing _now_ to complain is beyond Zayn.

“Ignore him,” Eleanor says, rolling her eyes. “I do; It’s really lovely.”

“El you’re really so smart. Shame you got stuck with such a grouch.”

“I can _hear_ you.”

Eleanor sighs, but leans into Louis so their arms are pressed together. “Imagine if he chose to be nice, because we’re here to support our mutual friends and it’d mean a lot to them if we were happy to be here. Maybe I could still hear his voice…”

“Jesus, _fine.”_ Louis sits up straight. He slings an arm around Eleanor’s shoulders and flashes them the biggest, most ingenuine smile Zayn thinks he’s ever seen.

“And you seriously wanted to be an actor at one point?”

Zayn snorts into his drink.

“And you say _I’m_ the mean one? How rich.”

Eleanor smacks him lightly on the arm, but they still adjust themselves, fit together seamlessly.

“Where’s Harry?” Eleanor asks.

“Soulmate date,” Louis says. Eleanor _ahh’s_ and nods to herself. “And, like, by the way, have any of us caught her name yet?”

Zayn pauses mid-sip, rewinds back and tries to think of one time when Harry had mentioned it. Which is difficult, because Harry talks slowly and gets distracted easily, so Zayn usually tunes most of it out.

“I dunno,” Zayn says. “He’s like _talked_ about her, obviously, but I can’t remember what her name is. Or even if Harry finally figured it out.”

Louis frowns for a moment, then shrugs and pulls out his phone. “I guess we’ll never know, then.”

Zayn turns away from Louis and Eleanor in favour of watching four people arrange their music equipment on a small stage. Liam’s fiddling around with their amps—which Zayn’s not really sure Liam should be trusted to do—and one of Bressie’s friends Laura is helping hook up some sort of soundboard. Then Bressie and Niall, of course, tuning their guitars and laughing with each other.

It’s not something they usually do together, open mics. Since Ellie moved, Niall’s helped out other performers whenever the singer or coordinator asked. He’s more or less known at this bar, now, as _that guy who plays the guitar for open mic night._ Bressie likes performing, either singing on his own or with his band.

They start up without introduction, Laura flicking some switches and giving them a thumbs up. After that, Zayn spaces out pretty quickly. Their voices are familiar, and both good, but Niall’s voice especially warms Zayn’s chest, even when he’s just harmonizing with Bressie. Niall’s all smiles, has always had trouble trying to be somber and serious when he’s singing to a crowd. When he’s singing to Zayn in particular, Niall told Zayn once, but he’d rolled his eyes and told Niall to stop lying.

Zayn watches them sing together, mostly just looking at Niall, his smile and the way he puts his whole body into playing the guitar and the hat he’s wearing that Zayn _hates_ but doesn’t chuck because he knows Niall likes it. There’s no doubt Niall knows he’s staring, too, because he waggles his eyebrows and throws Zayn some not-so-subtle winks. But Niall’s staring at him, too, helplessly happy and glowing even under the dim bar lights.

Liam, who settled in beside Zayn but keeps checking his phone for something work-related, takes a break from emailing his manager to _aww_ and pinch Zayn’s cheek. Louis kicks hard at Zayn’s leg under the table.

They cover songs for about twenty minutes, some serious and some a bit goofy, but they still get a standing ovation. Niall smacks a huge kiss to Bressie’s cheek, makes him do a theatre bow with him before he hops off the stage. He practically skips over to their booth, laughter already preceding him, and Zayn’s big goofy grin only gets bigger and goofier; he can feel it.

“Hey _loooooooooove,”_ Niall says, dropping down next to Zayn.

Zayn laughs, because he knows for a fact Niall’s only had one beer and this is purely the high of performing. He presses a quick kiss to Niall’s puckered lips. “Hey. Was good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall smiles, kisses Zayn’s nose quickly before he takes off his hat and plops it onto Zayn’s head.

“No! God, _Niall—”_

“Shush, you look so cute,” Niall insists. He’s having trouble holding in giggles, though, so Zayn doesn’t think that’s true.

“It was cute when you wore snapbacks, babe. This—”

“Shh.” Niall kisses his lips again, then presses a finger over them. “I don’t wanna hear it. I like you wearing my stuff, and I think you look cute.”

Zayn pouts, pulls a face so that his eyes go big and sad. It’s not practiced, he swears, but Niall definitely doesn’t believe him.

“That’s cheating,” Niall says, but drops his finger.

“When have we ever followed the rules?”

Niall smiles, the warm one Zayn’s only seen when he’s just around Zayn. It makes his heart swell, knowing that some things are just for him. It makes him even happier knowing Niall’s always smiled at him like that, even before they were properly together. Zayn thinks that whoever made up the soulmate clocks didn’t know a goddamn thing, because he’s never been more sure that this is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

“True, okay.” Niall shifts so that his arm is along the booth behind Zayn’s head and takes a gulp of Zayn’s beer. “Where are Lou and El? And Liam, for that matter?”

“Liam watched, but had to leave early, and Lou and El are grabbing more beers. Also food, I think.”

They sit quietly, Zayn’s gaze drifting over the art on the walls that he’s already comfortably familiar with and Niall tapping away on his phone. Probably texting Laura to see if she got any videos of them. Something Zayn’s always loved about Niall, he thinks, is that they can just sit, just _be_ with each other without having to fill the gaps. Niall traces circles onto his back and shoulders and hums something quietly that Zayn can’t place.

“Do you ever _not_ cave? Like, you’ll even wear the paddy cap?”

Zayn’s already laughing when he looks to Bressie, standing at the end of their booth with raised eyebrows and a teasing smile.

“I’ll have you know that I cave _every_ time, Mr. Breslin,” Zayn says. “And I’m sure Niall is offended at even the implication of otherwise.”

“Stop being all formal,” Niall laughs.

“Hard not to be formal when you’ve put him in a hat that was popular over a hundred years ago,” Louis pipes in. He pats Bressie on the shoulder before him and Eleanor slide into the booth.

“The lead singer of AC/DC wore them,” Niall says. “So, they’re _cool.”_

Bressie shakes his head, but clearly is holding back a grin. “They were cool in the 90’s. Now they’re… debatable.”

“Okay, stop,” Zayn says, adjusting the hat on his head but not taking it off. “Niall’s a rockstar, so he makes it cool. End of.”

Louis snorts, but Niall looks over at Zayn and pretends to wipe a tear away. Then, he tips the brim of the hat up and off of Zayn’s head, and before Zayn can even register surprise, Niall is kissing him, wrapping an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and resting the other hand on his waist. Niall makes a happy noise in the back of his throat, licks into Zayn’s mouth like he usually doesn’t do when they’re in the company of their friends.

Eventually, Louis starts complaining about a lack of decency—like he’s some expert on being PG in public—and Bressie wolf-whistles, yells _yeah, Chief!_ Niall has to pull back to laugh. Zayn smiles, presses a kiss to his shoulder before putting the hat back on Niall’s head.

“Looks better on you, babe.”

That makes Niall grin, and he tips his hat to Zayn. “Thanks. It’s not for everyone.”

They settle down after that, Bressie giving him a bear hug before rejoining his friends at their own booth, and Louis and El delving into their own conversation. Niall runs his fingers along the numbers on Zayn’s forearm that haven’t changed in over eight months, _00:00:25:45._ The only difference is that now, there are little flowers tattooed there as well, springing out of the counter that stopped counting.

 _“It’s symbolic,”_ Zayn said, two months ago when he was getting them done, Niall’s hand clasped firmly in his. _“Like, good things can still grow out of what’s perceived to be broken. Moving forward and persevering even when it feels like the world wants you to stop and give up.”_

Niall hums happily. “So, how does it feel to be in love with a _rockstar?”_

Zayn smiles, presses it into Niall’s shoulder and keeps watching Niall’s delicate fingers trace the outlines of the flowers. “Considering that this rockstar loves me back, it feels pretty fucking great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic really has my heart, and it’s making me all emotional knowing I’m done writing it and posting it. It makes me so happy, though, knowing people loved it (almost) as much as I do. Thanks to everyone who left kudos or reblogged it on tumblr. An even bigger thank you to those who messaged me about it, and those who left comments and stuck with me through to the end of it. You’re all so sweet and I appreciate every single kind word.
> 
> Thanks also to my friends who sent me words of encouragement, let me rant at them, and scanned my chapters for my many 3am written errors. Thank you in particular to Pia, Andrea, Zane, Sarah, Janelle, and Stella who leant me their eyes in a non-creepy way. And of course, huuuge thank you to Lex, who looked over this whole thing for me, dealt with me yelling about various things (cough the sex scene I was freaking out about writing), and was just an amazing person to have at my side. I love and appreciate all of you a whole lot.
> 
> 2017 was a hard year for me, and this fic brought me lots of happiness. Shoutout to you if you read this entire end note. Thanks to everyone who read it and motivated me to keep going. As always, feedback — no matter how ‘late’ or however long after this fic as been completed — is appreciated. Thanks for reading :) <3

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment, message me, tell me what you think, yell at me, etc., etc. I'm also on [tumblr](https://zlall.tumblr.com/) if that's your thing.
> 
> The tumblr post is [here](https://zlall.tumblr.com/post/164220853032), if you're interested. I'll be updating it as I post more chapters.


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